


Carding the Veil

by Saeldur



Series: Empire Lost [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Slavery, Canon Rewrite, F/F, F/M, Gen, LOTS of violence, M/M, Magical Realism, Multi, Slavery, Swearing, Violence, lots of swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-29
Updated: 2020-07-29
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:34:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 38,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23582437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saeldur/pseuds/Saeldur
Summary: “This is-”“Is this a Magister?”The question brought Cassandra and Cullen up close and personal, the three of them crowding in to see the descriptive text with their own eyes. Cullen recoiled, Cassandra leaned in and squinted, Leliana’s face became an expressionless mask.“The Magistratrix says that she is sympathetic to the plight of the ‘Mages in the South’ and wants to lend her expertise to the matter at hand.”“I’m sure she does!” Cullen scoffed, “How Best to Leash Templars.”---Part One in a series of stories to re-tell and re-imagine the events of Inquisition. To include an exploration of the history of Thedas, elvhan lore, and wild conspiracy theories in an attempt to make things a little more coherent, but a lot more insane.This story follows our Would-Be Inquisitors and their journey to the Conclave, and the inevitable result.Part Two of the 'Empire Lost' series is up now!
Series: Empire Lost [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1855285
Comments: 2
Kudos: 9





	1. Introductions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A very, very brief summary of the world of Thedas for anyone who might not be overly familiar with the setting. Feel free to skip to the next chapter if you're already well familiar. This does delve a _little_ into information the average citizen of Thedas may not have, but it's not too far down that track. And certainly as the story progresses, more scandalous things than this will be revealed.
> 
> And certainly it's a little _dramatic,_ and possibly it's a little _biased,_ but an attempt was made.
> 
> Enjoy.
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own anything you recognize.

Prologue

Thedas is a world in chaos. And nearly always it has been a world at war.

There have been wars between nations that decimated bloodlines and wars between species that tasted like genocide. There have been Exalted Marches against infidels and civil wars so bloody they threatened to fell the nation in on itself. Now, however, it seems the south of Thedas is embroiled in a war between mages and everyone else. But the south of Thedas is not _all_ of Thedas.

In the North, the Tevinter Imperium has stood strong for over two thousand years, even as whole nations have been carved out from it's once-expansive territory. It still manages to be a powerhouse, a terror - a nation feared by all others - if for no other reason than that it is run by Mages.

Run by Mages on the backs of slaves - the last nation to _officially_ keep to the institution. The majority of the nation is non-magical - sleepers - ‘Soporati’. But it does not matter; the nobles are all Mages themselves, and they live in decadence hardly seen elsewhere. They practice their arcane arts in prestigious colleges and circles, learning and expanding the breadth and depth of what magic can do. All of their progress, however, comes at a price - the lives and blood of elves and non-magical poor alike, reduced to chattel. But for all their extravagance, for all their callous disregard, they also play a vital role in Thedas.

The Imperium is nearly the only thing holding the Qunari in check. ‘Ox-men’ they are sometimes called, but never to their faces, not when they’re armed. Not unless you outnumber them. They are, as a people, tall and broad-shouldered; great horns curling from their heads, and to the Tevinter mindset, they are bloodthirsty savages.

While their appearance may cause fear or distress or disgust, it is their _beliefs_ that cause them to make war against the rest of the world. For the Qunari themselves believe that they were once savages. Once bloodthirsty barbarians. _Kossith._ And then Ashkaari Koslun wrote ‘The Qun’, and his people fell upon it - consumed it - were consumed by it. It brought order to their chaos and purpose to their lives. They became The Qunari - the People of the Qun.

It is the Qunari’s mission to spread this message, this enlightenment, this _order_ across all of Thedas. And they know what the Tevene know, and what all the rest of Thedas fears: If Tevinter should fall - all of Thedas will fall.

So yes, The Tevinter Imperium is full of slavers and power-hungry mages stabbing each other in the back over land squabbles and slave gifts and seats on the Magisterium. But they are also Thedas’ last line of defense against the Qunari menace, and so they get away with doing as they please.

For no other nation in Thedas can claim that they are ruled by mages. The Rivaini may have their Seers and the Avaar Tribes their Augurs, but these are not who _rule_ their people. They merely provide counsel. The Rivaini have a working relationship with their magics, and the Avaar practice theirs under the watchful eye of benevolent spirits. It is because these peoples do not subscribe to the predominant religion of the continent that they have such a tolerant view of magic.

For the majority of nations, magic is not something that is allowed to run free. It is not something that is allowed to be practiced out on the streets or out from under the watchful eye of the Chantry.

It is the Chantry - the Church of Andraste, blessed Bride of the Maker - that truly holds most of Thedas in an iron grip. It is the Chantry which demands, more than guides, the mores, the conventions in Thedas. ‘Magic is meant to serve man’, cries the Chantry, and with this one snippet crushes magic under heel.

Ferelden, Orlais, Nevarra, The Free Marches, Antiva, and even the vast wasteland of the Anderfels all march to the Chantry’s tune. Mages are rounded up, as soon as they manifest their power, and are taken to be locked away in towers called Circles - for their own good. On the surface, it is claimed that these Mages, these _children,_ are taken there to teach them control. To teach them how to make the magic serve them. But in reality - they are prisoners. For the only way a Mage actually _leaves_ a Circle is by running away - which is never permanent. Or death.

The children are trained up and given a choice. They may participate in a ritual where they are thrust into the realm of magic, facing off against a demon in a Harrowing that will try to possess them (which of course they must resist) - or they can be made Tranquil. Cut off from magic, the Tranquil are also cut off from their emotions. They tend to become alchemists and storeroom clerks in the Circles - for even a magicless Mage cannot leave.

The true horror of the Circles, for most, comes with the arm of the Chantry stationed in every tower to _watch_ the Mages. Templars. Trained in how to resist magic, in how to snuff it out, the Templars are said to be shepherds for their little flocks of Mages. In practice. In reality, they are jailers. They oversee the Harrowings and behead the Mages who fail to resist possession. They hunt down escaped Mages, and collect children to be brought to the Circle. They mete out punishment for any wrongdoing by Mages, and are the ones trained in performing the Rite of Tranquility.

In the best of circumstances, the Templars work _with_ the Mages. They _are_ there to protect them - from the outside world, from demons, from themselves if need be. They only kill who they must. They only make Tranquil those who know they are not strong enough to battle a demon and win.

But anyone alive can tell you how often the best-case scenario plays out. At their worst, they are corrupted by power. Abusing their charges in any way they see fit - because there is no one to stop them. Making Tranquil those who speak up against the abuse, those who would not submit. Absolute power corrupts absolutely. A lesson learned, and a scenario that played out in the Kirkwall Circle, in the Free Marches.

Kirkwall had once been a part of the Tevinter Imperium - as had all of the Free Marches - and it had been a hub for the slave trade. The City still looks it - giant golden statues carved and mounted into the rock face of it's main harbor of slaves in chains. The city itself is physically divided - the higher the social status, the higher in the city you live. Many even live _below_ the city, where the slave pits used to run.

By most accounts, it is in Kirkwall where the flame of the Mage Revolution began. The Kirkwall Circle was more corrupt than most - it’s Templar Knight-Commander Meredith, a tyrant. She wielded the brand of Tranquility as easily as a sword, snuffing out resistance and letting her favored minions do as they would with their new playthings. She only grew more mad and corrupted as the years went on. She was helped by a sword she had commissioned - carved entirely out of red lyrium.

Regular lyrium itself was dangerous, as is anything in the wrong hands. Useful in the right ones. When distilled and blended properly it gave boosts in magic endurance and strength to Mages. It allowed Templars their ability to suppress magic. It was used in enchantments, and potions, and the construction of magical staves. And always, always, that bright, electric blue.

_Red_ Lyrium was and is still yet a bit of a mystery - corrupting and turning to madness anything that stays too long in its presence. Including the Knight-Commander. Meredith had hallucinated insurrection where there was none and corruption everywhere except within herself. Until finally - she snapped - and ordered the Annulment of the Circle.

_Every_ Mage was to be put to the sword. Every man. Every woman. Every child.

According to most, an Apostate Mage - an escapee of a Circle - was the one who started it all. The one who could no longer tolerate her cruelty and lies and persecution. He blew up and destroyed the Kirkwall Chantry - the supposed seat of power for the Templars, though Meredith had long stopped listening to their edicts. He bombed the Kirkwall Circle and led the Mages to freedom - escape and riot and revenge against their oppressors.

The innocent and the guilty alike burned in those fires, and the outrage was immediate. Those who knew nothing railed against the Mage who destroyed the Chantry - feeling justified in their fear of Magic, in their belief that Mages should be locked away.

The Mages, however, saw their opportunity. Saw their chance. Even without knowing the full scope of the horrors of Kirkwall, every Mage knew what the worst of their situation would look like. Many had experienced it first hand. And so, because the liberation of Kirkwall had succeeded, all across Thedas, Circles rose up in open rebellion. Mages were no longer willing to be shackled and caged - they wanted _freedom_ , and they wanted it _NOW._

But the Chantry cannot allow such a thing. For magic to _serve_ man, it needs to be _controlled_. Regulated. Put in its place. Templars have done their best to fight the Mages at every turn. To hunt down these rebel Mages; they seek to drag them kicking and screaming back to their towers, or else see them dead.

Brutal fights rage across Thedas as the Mages and Templars each try to see the end of the other, and so many innocents are caught in the crossfire. So now, the head of the Chantry, Most Holy - Divine Justinia - has called for a truce. A meeting of minds. To discuss the future of Mages and to bring peace to Thedas. For this war cannot be sustained. It cannot be borne by the common folk without destroying life as everyone knows it.

Thus, the Conclave was called. At the Temple of Sacred Ashes, where the last remains of Holy Andraste, Bride of the Maker, are ensconced. Mages and Templars alike are to come to the Conclave under a banner of truce, to meet, and to discuss the direction they will go into the future _together_.

There are many who think Most Holy mad - who think this cannot work. But as religion unites countries, so too does it unite people. No one can deny that Divine Justinia is a fair and just woman - chosen by her peers for the position, of course - but also blessed by the Maker.

And so they come - from the Free Marches and Ferelden and Orlais and Antiva and Nevarra and the Anderfels - they come. Up to the Frostback Mountains, up to the Temple. They come to listen to Divine Justinia and what the Maker might tell her. They come and they _pray_ there is a solution to this that doesn’t burn down all of Thedas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a re-telling of Inquisition, and hopefully I won't be using any of the dialogue verbatim. Everything will be from my more or less faulty memory. And if it's spot-on, well. That just means I've played this game way too much.
> 
> In terms of what to expect in the long run: I'm a big fan of everyone getting a happy ending. I'm also a big fan of drama, turmoil, maiming, and general dumbassery of people in love. So. There may be crying. There may be screaming. But when we're done, characters will get what they deserve out of all this. I'm also a big fan of having a jillion characters. So. DAO characters, DAII characters, and people I plum make up will be making appearances too. Cameos? NAH. Join the cast - its the end of the world. We're all in this now.


	2. Holy Chant and Ink

** Chapter One **

Alexander Trevelyn was having a very bad day.

It was part of a bad week, in a bad month, in what was shaping up to be a bad year. And he’d known very bad years. He’d first shown signs of magic at age thirteen (which apparently was a late bloomer somehow). That year was filled with dread and horror and secrecy and just an untold amount of _panic_ on his parents’ parts. The next two years were filled with, if possible, more of the above as they tried to keep his magic a secret. Closing him up in his own wing of the manor and using only the most trusted servants. Or so they thought.

The year he was fifteen, his secret was betrayed to the Chantry by a maid they’d had serving their family all his life. Apparently, she’d been perfectly okay with all the fire and ice and levitating and fever fit dreams, but the minute that Alexander had expressed doubts in the Maker. Oh _that_ was a step too far.

He’d been taken to ‘one of the nicer Circles’, given that his parents were nobles, his name carried weight, and (as he later found out) their money was still good for something. He tried to think of it as an extended summer camp, or maybe boarding school. But it didn’t take that whole, terrible, no-good year he was fifteen to realize this was a prison. A nice prison...but a prison nonetheless.

The next two years (in his opinion) were too much Chantry service about resisting demons, and not enough instruction on everything you could do with magic. His fifteen year old self sort of thought it was bullshit. His _seventeen_ year old self, however, would’ve liked a little more practical advice on just _how_ to resist demons. It turned out it would’ve been pretty useful. What with the Harrowing. Either way, he lived and didn’t get possessed. Barely. And didn’t get axed by a Templar. Again: barely.

Despite what people say, mages still got mail from loved ones - well - if you had loved ones to send you mail. _Apparently_ the whole magic thing was a dealbreaker for some people. Not Alex’s parents, obviously, thankfully, and not for his sisters either. He wasn’t exactly having a _fun_ time at the Circle, but it wasn’t as bad as other places he could’ve been sent. If the tales of those Mages who’d been transferred to his Circle were any indication. (Transferred ‘on good behavior’. If that wasn’t prison speak, Alex didn’t know what was.)

But despite the fear of the unknown at thirteen, the pain of betrayal at fifteen, the terror of demon possession at seventeen, and the just, general unpleasantness of being somewhere you didn’t want to be in all the years that followed, it was _this_ year that was likely to be the worst. Some asshole had blown up a Chantry. Some _magical_ asshole, to be precise, had blown up the _Kirkwall_ Chantry, and now apparently it was every Mage’s fault. Far as they were from Kirkwall, both physically and in spirit, Alex’s circle wasn’t _much_ affected by the news, except…

* * *

  
  


“What do you mean, _representative?”_ The younger of the two mages flailed, belled sleeves flapping uselessly up to his elbows as he gestured overhead, as if to invoke the opinion of the blessed Maker in the conversation. He was a little taller than the other man (once he stood up, that is), but that was to be expected. The Grand Enchanter was nearing a hundred years old, and walked with a cane. Alexander Trevelyn was only in his twenties.

“I assume you are familiar with the definition of ‘representative’, Young Master Trevelyn.” The aging mage made a show of hefting his weight up from behind the desk, a smile playing mostly around his eyes. It was an endearing name he’d used for the young man since the start, and never failed to get him back in line. Not even now, when faced with the prospect of traveling across leagues of wilderness.

“Right. Yes.” Alex huffed a breath and put his arms down, straightening out his robes. Wouldn’t do to cause a _scene_. Even with such a small audience. He flicked a glance behind him, to the two Templars flanking the door, and wanted to hex the both of them for their smirking grins. Well. He was sure they were smirking. He wouldn’t know. Their visors were down. _Twats_. “I just meant...why would you pick _me_ for that, Grand Enchanter? And for that matter, why should we go at all?!”

“Because, my boy…” Enchanter Phineas shuffled around the end of the desk and over to a podium with a ledger on it. “...we are one of the few Circles not overthrown in riot and cooler heads need to be present at this meeting. You - and a Templar I am about to choose - shall make the journey from here to Haven and represent the illustrious Ostwick Circle in these proceedings.”

“Yes, but-”

“Do you have a preference?”

“Yes! It’s not to go!”

“I meant about the-”

_“I know very well what you meant.”_ Alex snapped, and then paced in the other direction. He needed to get his annoyance under control. The Grand Enchanter didn't seem to notice the level of his distress, fat finger running down the ledger page. Still. Alex could already feel the magic bubbling up hot and irritated under the palms of his hands.

It was funny. He thought about what it would be like to leave the Circle all the time. But he’d always pictured returning home. He did _not_ picture himself trekking across the wilderness with Mage and Templar rioting washing across the countryside. Maybe he could...maybe the Templar would let him...no.

“We’re not even going to _make_ it there, Grand Enchanter. We’re going to get waylaid. By Templars or Mages or _Bandits!_ ”

_“Oh my.”_ Came the whispered, tinny voice of one of the Templars. Alex whirled and glared at him. The other coughed, and the mage thought he might’ve been trying not to laugh.

“There, there...now. It's not bad. Not bad at all.” The old man started up again, and Trevelyn turned around, hopeful he was going to allay his fears. Instead, Phineas tapped a name on the page and said, “Templar Lucius Cane. _He’s_ a fit fellow for the job.”

Alexander groaned and hung his head. There wasn’t going to be any talking his way out of this. He instead tried to block the old man from leaving his office. “At _least_ send another Mage and- and- _two_ more Templars. Three! You know, for when _half of us get killed!”_

The Grand Enchanter only shuffled by the distressed Mage, patting him on the shoulder and gesturing to one of the Templars to get the door. It was well open by the time the old man had made his way to it. “Come, come, Young Master Trevelyn. Don’t be dramatic...and keep up. We’re going to tell your escort about his new assignment... _but maybe a stop to the kitchens first.”_ The old man muttered under his breath.

The Templars were _definitely_ trying not to laugh now. A trip to the kitchens, and then the Head Templar’s office, and _then_ to find Cane. It would take all day at his snail’s pace. On the plus side - he might be dead of old age by the time they got to tell Cane anyway.

* * *

  
  


In spite of being taken from his home and almost being possessed by demons, he was going to insist that _this_ was his worst month on record. Mainly because most of it so far had been spent trekking across the Maker-forsaken wilderness, and, _just as he told the Enchanter_ , dodging rabid Templar patrols and insane camps of Mages with their hired thugs. He’d tried not to think of how the mages had got the money to _pay_ these mercenaries they’d hired. He still pictured whole Circles burned to the ground and these assholes rummaging in the cinder for the master’s lockbox. He shuddered to think of himself caught in the crossfire. Or, Maker forbid, Templar Cane - who’d been very nice to him the whole time and put up with (more than) his fair share of complaining from Alex.

Fortunately (or unfortunately, depending on what kind of mood the young Mage was in) he hadn’t died of old age before they got ‘round to telling Cane about his new assignment. And the man had been strangely eager to go on this little mission, too. Alex couldn’t figure it, but he supposed it was better he _wanted_ to be there than not. They’d left on horseback days and days ago, and made fairly good time, all things considered.

* * *

“You don’t have to say it!” Trevelyn shouted as he ran full tilt back to the horses. Cane was right on his tail, or was, last he checked, and Alex could still hear the _ping! ping!_ of arrows bouncing off the Templar’s shield.

_“OH YES-!”_ The warrior roared, hefting and pushing his charge up into the saddle of one of their mounts, over the man’s squeaked protests, _“-I DO!”_ He tugged at the tied reins, and, seeing it a lost cause in his hurry, chopped them free.

“Are you mad?! How am I supposed to steer this thing!?”

“Just grab it by the mane!” Cane turned to face his enemy and was bowled forward when the mage followed his direction and the horse wheeled in a full circle, shoving the Templar into the charging mercenary with it's hindquarters. Both warriors nearly went down in a heap, but at the last moment Cane used his tall shield as a brace and the man’s neck as something to push it off of. The mercenary gargled in pain once, and a second time when the Templar’s sword pierced his breast easy as roast duck.

“DON’T JUST SIT THERE!” Cane roared again, trying to snap the little Mage to his senses, “Set them on fire!” He _needed_ backup.

Alex, honestly, was just trying to get his horse under control. The thing didn’t like any of this fighting. And it surely wasn’t going to like _fire_ springing up around it. _And_ he’d never been in a fight before. _And_ he’d never been told by a Templar to _do_ magic. And- AND- HE PANICKED. Alex kicked his horse’s side - in a whinny of fright it bucked and charged forward - right through the little group of mages.

He could hear the Templar yelling something behind him, but he couldn’t figure out how to wheel the beast around. Looking over his shoulder, he could see it didn’t matter. He’d provided enough of a distraction and Lucius was atop his charger - looking mad as a rage demon and charging after him. He honestly couldn’t think that face was for him, and shouted, warning the knight of his predicament, “I can’t stop it! Hurry up!”

When they’d finally gotten away - when Cane had finally stopped both horses - he nearly shoved Alex off onto the ground and then didn’t stop laughing for what felt like ages. Eventually, he helped the Mage down properly, shaking his head. He sighed, clapping his mailed hands heavily on Alex’s shoulders, “For a moment there, I really thought you were leaving me there to die, Alex.” He shook his head again, “I forgot you’re an idiot.”

“Hey!” Came the immediate protest, even as the Templar walked away, “I’ll have you know I’ve been riding horses since I was five! Well. Until I was thirteen...but that’s not the point! You don’t ride them without _reins_ , Lucius! You- look!” He pulled at the stumpy bits of leather hanging from his mount’s bridle. “You’ve ruined it! You’ll have to get me another.”

Cane stopped where he’d been leading his horse to unsaddle her and turned, tucking his fist to his middles and giving a full bow, “A thousand pardons, your lordship. I’ll talk to the stablemaster right away for a replacement.”

A beat. Two. Alex burst out laughing, and Cane started up again, though his hand stayed on his stomach from the pain of so much laughter recently. He started digging through the saddlebags. “Well, at least we- _Maker’s beard!”_

The Templar _never_ cursed. And Alex didn’t know if he liked it. “What? What’s wrong.”

It took Cane a moment to answer, but when he did, it was with an air of defeat. “They attacked _after_ we unpacked the food. It’s back at that camp.”

Alex, on the other hand, was a fair hand at this cursing business. “Pissbucket.”

* * *

Again, it would be hard to say for certain, but he thought he had it pegged to _this_ week. This very week was starting to look like the worst in his life, if only because they were now close enough to Haven that they were traveling with everyone _else_ wanting to attend this summit. Which meant Templars and Mages and nobles and peasants and people from all walks of life who were, in Alex’s opinion, to a man (and woman) assholes. Every single one of them. Cane was the only rational person left on this planet beside himself, and he’d shown it by being the only Templar _not_ to get into a fight every five seconds. Even when he’d wanted to.

* * *

Alex didn’t know what had been said originally, because he’d been too preoccupied trying to figure out how he’d lost a button, but now he was holding Lucius’ sword arm. Trying to keep the man from drawing his sword against _three_ other Templars. “It’s not worth the trouble.”

The three of them laughed to see the mage _worried_ for his travel companion. One of them - he reminded Alex of a fat badger - elbowed his buddy (who looked more or less like you’d bred a frog with a stork and turned it human) and said, “ _Lookit ‘im!_ Tryin’ t’hold ‘im back! What a _proud_ little defender you are.”

Cane glared, but took his hand off his sword hilt.

“That’s right, shiney, listen to the little missus.” Sneered the stork-toad, ignoring Alex’s outraged squeak of protest. “Never thought I’d see a mage try’n save one of ours.”

The third chuckled, and when he spoke, Alex could only think him a snake, “Boys, boys...don’t make fun.” Any illusion that the man was trying to diffuse the situation broke on his next words, “Mages can be quite _loyal_ if you train them up right, and not to mention…” He gave Alex a leering once-over, “...oh, so _useful_...once you break them in properly.” He turned to Lucius, “My congratulations, brother, on a job well done.”

“You’re no brother of mine,” Cane snarled, at the same time Alex let go of his arm and said:

“I changed my mind. You can kill ‘em.”

“I’d love to.” Cane muttered, hand back on his sword hilt. But he didn’t draw it. It _was_ still three to one, and Alex would be out of the running the instant the three of them laid down holy smite.

“Oh ho!” Badger laughed, pointing and ribbing the stork-frog again, “Maybe we’ve got it the wrong way ‘round! Maybe this one has his little Templar on a leash! Playing at magister, are you, boy?”

Alex really, _really_ resented when people called him boy. It happened a lot with mages. And, he supposed, happened a lot with him because he was so young. Or at least looked it. He was three-and-twenty in a couple of months’ time, and while he thought that was well far enough into adulthood...apparently there was some contention about it. Mainly from grizzled or at least jaded Templars. And master Mages. And just veteran Mages. Okay, everyone. It didn’t help that he also looked forever five minutes late - a scruff of a couple of days’ beard, and robes that were in need of mending at the elbows, some bit of parchment or kerchief or something always sticking out of a pocket.

While Alex had been having his own internal monologue, it had happened. The thing that would make tomorrow the very worst day ever. And he’d missed it. Some throw-away comment Lucius had made about Tevinter magisters. Something no one there should have disagreed with. Except. Except one person did, and instead of airing her grievances like a normal person, she decided to bottle that right up and turn all of her hate for sweet little Lucius Cane into an ambush.

As it was, presently, it took a sister of the Chantry noticing the commotion to resolve anything. The good sister scolded the lot of them (excluding Alex, whom she took pity on, mistaking his wandering mind’s silence for fear) and sent them off in separate directions. She had even given him a candy. Maybe looking young did have its perks.

* * *

So it shouldn’t have come as any surprise to him that a Tevinter Magister was here. Now. On the road to Haven. But it did. And it shouldn’t have surprised him that she’d taken offence to whatever Cane had said (which it didn’t). And it further, given what little he knew of Magisters, shouldn’t have surprised him that she had guards (and it didn’t). But what _did_ surprise him was the _number_ of guards that she had. Or maybe he was better off saying the _amount_ of guarding that was possible.

Alex had put up protective spells and gotten in a shot of arcane bolts or a flame blast where he could, but he wasn’t _made_ of mana, and he certainly wasn’t good at offensive spells. Not in the least. He was better at healing. Which he became infinitely grateful for at the next turn of events.

“Enough!” The Magister had called from inside her carriage. She hadn’t deigned to step foot outside it from the start. They’d stopped because they thought her stranded, from the terrible tilt of the wagon and the way the three men milling about seemed to be scratching their heads. Obvious, now, that it was a trap.

The three guards - for the coachman had stayed atop - stepped back, clearing space. Alex thought, at first, the Magister herself might be coming out now to duel, but no. Worse. A man unfolded himself from the cabin, drawing himself up to his full height once clear of the coach’s _apparently_ low ceiling, rolling his neck, amid pops, across those _massive_ shoulders. He had to be seven foot tall. He just _had_ to be. Barely armored and wearing furs - still only half dressed in the cold. He had swaths of blue paint across his chin and cheeks and bare chest.

Dainty, dark-skinned hands, bedecked with gold chain, passed a large club from inside (and Alex did _not_ see how the owner of those hands could have been _hefting_ the giant, wicked thing).

“Ravnir...kill them both.”

Alex caught the barest hint of white hair, more furs, and the jingle of more chain from inside before all he could focus on was the monstrosity in front of them. He poured healing energy into Cane and, for the first time in many years, actually _prayed to the Maker_ they would live.


	3. Whetstone and Spindleweed

**Chapter Two**

“I’d tell you to pray to your gods - but you savages don’t have any - do ya?” The bandit adjusted his grip on his greatsword, fixed his footing, and swung.

It _bounced_ off his opponent's solidly-held shield.

A fierce grin was the only response, just before the axe blow landed, lodging between helm and armor. There was a sick squelch of flesh and a spray of blood as the weapon was yanked free again.

There was no time to admire the handiwork of that kill; an arrow whistled by, causing the axe-wielder to duck. Hissera Adaar swore as it clipped one of her horns and jerked her head at an odd angle. Her mother’s pride be damned, she was cutting the forsaken things off.

“Close in!” Came the roar of command from, presumably, the asshole in charge. Positioned safely up the hill.

“But she laid out Vince in one hit!” There was a dodgey, weasley-looking fuck slightly behind and to the right of Hissera. Stalling, twirling his daggers - she could just catch the movement in the corner of her eye. He was too chickenshit to be the first one in, but Hissera knew he’d be hilt deep in her kidneys the second his friend grew a pair.

His friend - the sword-and-board fighter - was locked in a staring contest with her. What she wouldn’t give for a little rashvine right about now to smear on her face. Something about paint on a Qunari tended to make men piss themselves.

_Alright_ , she thought, _You’ve got a fighter. Rogue with two knives. Fucker with a bow. Man in charge. You can do this, probably. You’re going to lose a body part, maybe._ Hissera snarled as Mr. Shield took an aborted step forward. _But you’re sure as shit taking at least two more of them with you._

“Alright, fuckers - which of you am I killing first? You?” She raised her eyebrows at the man in front of her. “Or your friend back there?” She jerked her head back in his direction, “Whoever drops his weapon first, lives. The next one dies. _Screaming._ ”

“There’s three of you, and one of her! Just kill the cow, and be done with it!”

Before Mr. Shield could get any clever ideas, Hissara leapt for him - he barely got his namesake up in time. Her swings were a little wild, but they were heavy. She yelled with every hit. Steadily beating him back towards the rise where his friend with the bow was perched. She needed to get out of his line of sight.

She took a nick here and there in her desperation to get the man to _move_ , but when she heard the cursing from above, she knew she’d done it. That fucker was going to have to come down if he wanted a good angle.

There was a sudden cold sting, and the air was driven out of her lungs. Hissera had forgotten about the rogue with the knives. Snarling, she turned, slashing through air as the little weasel jumped back out of range. She had them both in her sight now, but she was letting herself get backed into a corner.

She could hear the man with the bow scrabbling down the far side of the embankment. Soon he’d be popping up around the corner and she’d catch one of those stupid arrows right between the eyes. Mr. Shield was breathing heavy, staying put and stalling for time. Weasel-Daggers was hopping from foot to foot, trying to decide if he wanted to rush in or not.

“Fuck this.” Hissera reached into a belt pouch and popped the cork on a vial, downing the thing in one swig. Her face scrunched up as the potion hit, and she dashed the vial on the rocks at her feet.

Fire. Liquid fire was pouring through her veins, and she _roared_ with the rush of it.

Weasel-Daggers stumbled backwards, and Adaar locked on - bear to wounded deer.

With a yell, she charged across the little dell, catching the rogue square in the chest. Her momentum caught and lifted him, and they both sailed along - until crunching into a wide oak. Adaar barely registered the cry of pain and the popping of ribs like dried wood. She did _feel_ the splatter of blood on her face, as the rogue coughed.

An arrow thunked into the thick of her arm through leathers, and she cried out, turning.

Weasel-Daggers slumped to the forest floor in a heap, groaning and crying and coughing up more blood.

Her shield came up as the next arrow flew, and it clanged aside, useless. Hissera stalked closer, step by step, shield up and at the ready. She knew, instinctively, Mr. Shield had moved to her blind spot - but there was nothing she could do about that just yet.

The archer was backing up, and even from this distance she could see the white in his eyes. Maybe blood was a good vitaar too. She grinned, staring him down.

He kept sneaking glances over his shoulder, and soon realized she was pushing him to a drop off. One more shot - a wild miss - and he dropped his bow, “Stop, stop, stop!”

Hissera had two seconds to savor that victory, before she was knocked on her ass.

Mr. Shield had caught his breath, and was standing over her. His sword was angled down, and it was clear he thought to take her surrender. His boss was yelling something, but she couldn’t hear him over the ringing in her ears. It took longer than she liked to clear her vision. The other bandit was reaching for his bow, and Hissera couldn’t risk it being two against one again.

Axe still in hand, she swiped at the warrior’s ankles. It stuck in his shin bone. The fucker screamed and crashed forward, slicing through her cheek, sword lodging in the meat of her shoulder. The warrior was cursing a blue streak, trying to pull the axe out and get up to his feet.

“Stay where the _fuck_ you are!” Adaar barked at the archer, jabbing with her shield.

The man froze, hands up.

Mad, shaking, feeling no pain - the sizeable Qunari stood, jerking the other man’s sword out of her shoulder with a snarl.

He’d managed to get up on his knees, and she didn’t hesitate.

The warrior’s head rolled to a stop at the archer’s feet.

The archer dry heaved, lurching forward.

Adaar could hear the other - the boss - making a break for it. “Pick up your bow.” The Archer shook his head fiercely, shock keeping him in place. She was on him in two strides, snatching him by the arm and shoving him down.

“Pick it up!” Adaar screamed, shaking him.

He had the bow in his hands, but he was trembling like a leaf. “Please!” He croaked, begging.

“Up the ridge!” She gave him a shove in the right direction, and followed after as he all but flung himself up the embankment. Adaar advanced and he backed and scrabbled his way up and back to the very edge. “Turn around.”

The Archer shook his head again.

Adaar snarled and grabbed the man again, manhandling him into facing down into the next valley. Their boss had just gotten down - looked like he’d fallen half the way - and was hobbling into a clearing. It was a clear shot. A good shot. The man was moving in a straight line.

“Shoot him.” Adaar snarled, moving to give the man room. He didn’t draw, and she yelled, “Shoot him, or I snap your neck! NOW! DRAW! FIRE!”

Muscle memory succeeded where the man’s will had failed him, and the draw was smooth. The arrow nocked flawlessly. A pull of bowstring, and it flew - straight and on target.

The bandit leader lurched forward, collapsing with an arrow just below his shoulder blade.

The Qunari was breathing heavy. Blood rushing in her ears. Little by little, the fire banked. Little by little she could hear the creak of swaying trees. The birds squawking in protest. The panicked breathing of the man next to her.

Next came the throb of her cheek. The ache in her muscles. The very persistent pain in her arm and the opposite shoulder. She took a deep breath in, and exhaled in a rush.

The archer whimpered, but didn’t dare move.

“My name - is Hissera Adaar. I’ve been trained in combat from birth. I am the second in command of a mercenary company called the Valo-Kas, and I am exhausted.” She turned to look, and the human stared back, terrified and confused. “If you ran now, I couldn’t catch you. I wouldn’t try.”

“Why?”

“Why what? Why wouldn’t I chase you? What part of fucking exhausted don’t you understand?” _Why was he still here?_

The Archer leaned away, wary of the rage in her voice, but he shook his head, sniffing, wiping at his nose, “Why shoot him? He was leaving.”

“Do I look stupid to you?” Hissera was more than a little pleased at how quickly he shook his head 'No'. “Any of the rest of you would have run and let me be. That-” She jabs her arm still strapped in it's shield in the direction of the valley, “-is the kind of asshole to recruit new cutthroats and come hunt me down. _Tie up the cow_ , and do fuck knows what to me.” She waits, almost daring him to contradict her.

He didn't.

“The way I see it, there’s only two ways about this.” Hissera unbuckles her shield, gingerly moving to put it back on its strap and across her back, “One, you leave, and we never see each other again - _knowing_ \- that if I do see you, I’ll assume you’re there to kill me. And I’ll kill you first. And I’ll do it _slower_.”

There’s an involuntary whimper from the Archer that makes him clap a hand over his mouth. He recovers fairly quickly, all things considered, “And the other option?” He’s eyeing her warily, cautiously. Like he’s wondering if he can draw an arrow before she can throttle him to death.

He can’t.

“The other option is that you follow me back down the hill. I put ol’ Weasel-Daggers out of his misery, if he isn’t already dead, and you follow me back to Murkwell. I get patched up, you get fed, and I offer you a job.”

“Why...why would you do that?”

“The Valo-Kas has been hired to do security for this Conclave.” Hissera sighs, groaning, as she rolls her unpunctured shoulder. “And the Valo-Kas is _all_ Qunari.” She tries _very_ hard not to give a sharp grin at the way the Archer shrinks from that knowledge. “Everyone acts right when mother’s in the room, but…”

“You’re afraid eventually people are going to cotton on that they only have to watch for a pair of horns before they start stabbing each other or poisoning the drinks.” When Hissera nods, the man hums in confirmation, “And you think if I worked for your group, I could sort of...spy, as it were?”

“As it were.”

"Still doesn't explain why you trust me - why you'd offer me a job."

Hissera sighed, "My mother told me there's two type'a men that turn to banditry for a living. The first kind are assholes with no marketable skills other than being a thug. The second were driven to it by necessity. So which are you?"

_"Ah..._ ...necessity."

The fact he had to think about it before answering sold her on the truth of it. For now. "Besides. Boss wanted me to recruit humans or elves or something, so here I am. Recruiting."

“If that’s the case, why not take Cormac, too?” When she gives him a blank look, the Archer supplies, “The man you affectionately referred to as Weasel-Daggers.”

She grunts and gestures for the man to walk, taking the first step as the two of them make their way back to the scene of the fight, “The problem is - a whole lot of shit broke when I slammed your friend into that tree. I don’t know if what’s wrong with him can be fixed with a potion, and I'm not exactly a healer.” Sliding a little at the bottom, she slammed into one of the said trees with a grunt and grumbled, “Even if I had a potion to spare, for a man who stabbed me in the kidney. _Which I don't._ ”

Weasel-Daggers - or Cormac - was actually conscious when they reached him. He’d propped himself up against the tree that tried to send him to his maker, one of his daggers across his lap. He was wheezing in a wet sort of way and eyeing his fellow bandit more than the Qunari that’d put him in this condition in the first place.

“I wouldn’t worry - see? He always carries a few.” The Archer tapped Cormac’s boot with his toe, “I assume you took all of yours?”

“You friends with her now?”

“Better friends than dead.” He frowned as Cormac hacked something else up - something pink and fleshy. “Maker’s balls.” Kneeling down, the archer dug through the pack he’d been carrying and pulled out two red vials, waggled them in his direction. “Go on.”

“Not gonna save one for your new friend?” Cormac half-sneered, half-slurred, but reached for the potions anyway.

Hissera was faster, snatching them away, and holding them up for inspection. “His new friend doesn’t need them just yet.” She looked back down at the rogue at her feet, “But you do.”

“So make him the same deal.”

“Nah,” Hissera tapped the vials against her thigh, but before the Archer could try and persuade her, she spoke again, “Different deal for you, Kidney-Shot. You work for my merc group, or I finish the job I started. Pick.”

The rogue coughed, laughing, blood dribbling down his chin, “Oh, so this is how the Qun works? Slavery or death - what a choice.”

“Cormac, don’t be an ass.”

“I’m- I was just- yes. I don’t want to die.” He held his arm up, in the general direction of Hissera, waving his hand about, “Give us the potions then, Qunari, and I’ll stab _other_ people, hmm? Whoever you want.”

Hissera grumbled, muttering under her breath about bad decisions, but she handed the potions over anyway. She was dearly hoping this didn’t come back to bite her in the ass. This fucker was clearly the first kind of bandit. But it _was_ what she and Shokrakar had talked about - recruiting. Just not necessarily the _way_ they had talked about it.

Cormac was practically tongue-fucking the vials trying to get every last drop out, but by the end he did look a little less sallow. Still kicked to shit, but at least he wasn’t coughing up organs anymore. She supposed that counted for something.

Hissera turned and went to gather her shit. She also rifled through Mr. Shield’s pockets - Neck Wound’s too. She came up with a weird glass trinket, 33 Silvers, a salvageable pack between the two of them, a new sword, and a pair of boots that looked just about Kaariss’ size. She probably should’ve felt a little worse about looting the corpses of those two fucker’s friends. But. They _had_ tried to kill her, so she let the guilt fall amongst the leaves.

By the time Hissera returned, gingerly poking around the arrow still delightfully lodged in her arm, the Archer had gotten his friend more or less upright. They’d geared back up, and were slowly making their way towards the vague direction of town. It was going to take days at this pace.

“My name’s Ronan, by the way.” The Archer volunteered into the awkward, grunting semi-silence between them.

“Ronan?” Hissera parroted, “Cormac and Ronan.” Another heavy sigh and she held aside a bit of brush for the two men to amble through, “Boss is gonna have a field day with this. The two most Ferelden-sounding humans I could drum up.”

“Got a problem with Fereldens?”

“Oh _no_ , Cormac,” Hissera replied, tone sickly sweet, “You’re all _such_ nice people! How could I have any trouble? Why, I’m sure I have as few problems with Fereldens as _you_ do with Qunari. We’re going to be _such_ good friends, Cormac. _Such_ _good friends_.”

Ronan laughed under his breath and tried to chivvy his friend along a little faster. He had plans for a bed in an inn tonight, instead of the forest floor. Even if he had to share it, it would be better than finding a nug trying to eat his hair. Despite what the others might claim, he did _not_ scream like a girl about it. But he didn’t want a repeat performance, either.

Luckily, the village wasn’t actually that far off - even with Cormac groaning and shuffling and hobbling like an old man for hours, and stopping them every half to catch his breath. They arrived just as the sun was arcing it's way downwards, and had stopped, on a rock, within view of the main thoroughfare for Cormac to have a breather again.

“Say - what happened to Pate?”

Ronan and Hissera shared a look over Cormac’s head, but the Qunari gave away nothing in her expression. A careful blank. Ronan dithered, “Uh...Pate?”

“Yes. Pate. Our boss? Guy who ordered us around? Guy who paid us? Any of this ringin’ a bell?”

“Oh, uh...well he...run off, didn’t he? Not like he was gonna dirty his hands to save us.”

Cormac slowly started to sit up - already turning his head to look at his comrade, when Hissera jerked him to his feet. “If your friend shows back up, he can either get paid like you two or get dead - come on. We are spitting distance from clean water and a fucking meal. We’re not camping out here, Kidney-Shot.”

Cormac was too busy groaning and complaining to notice the second look shared between Ronan and Hissera. Too busy wincing and whinging in pain to see the mouthed words of thanks from the Archer or the nod of the Qunari.

What he did manage to notice, however, was the stout form of a dwarf, several buildings down, standing just in the back shadow of a building. They were watching with a look that Cormac knew well. He stopped their progress to make a pointed look in the dwarf’s direction, hand over the pommel of his dagger.

  
A long moment of eye contact, and then the dwarf was gone - down the alley and deeper into the shadows - but thankfully _away_ from them.


	4. Silence and Blood

**Chapter Three**

A light flared in the dark and gave a brief glimpse of a scarred face with a stern expression. The match also brought life to a sweet-smelling smoke. Somewhere, a rat squeaked and sniffed, rooting around in the far reaches of their little stone-built room. The other non-animal occupant gave a garbled protest - a muffled pleading that drew the smoker's attention.

“What?” The match was shaken, extinguished, leaving the area only dimly lit by an oddly specific sort of blue light. “You got an allergy or something?” The gruff voice didn’t carry well in the chamber, but it didn't need to. The little stone storeroom wasn't very big.

Valdis Cadash leaned down and grabbed her fellow occupant by the shoulder, and hauled him up to sit back against a barrel. Squatting there, drawing on her pipe, she studied the features of the man she’d bound and gagged. Well. Studied the shape of him more like. She’d been told once that the dwarves of Orzammar could see in the dark. Full dark. She didn’t know if she believed it, but it didn’t seem too far-fetched. _The hole-dwelling little moles_. She, however, didnt need that particular trick; she could see well enough in the dim glow of so much lyrium.

The man made a whimpering protest again, as she drew on her pipe. “Ah, you’re upset about the lit pipe.” He nodded, then jumped and gave a muffled scream as something skittered past his feet. “Oh shut up, you big baby.” Cadash stood up, swept her foot in the animal’s general direction and frightened it off. “It’s just a rat.” She took another draw, blowing the smoke into his face as she leaned in, “Not like I can leave you here to get eaten.”

The man turned his head and something suspiciously like a sob escaped around the gag. Or maybe a cough. Hard to tell.

“Now _I’m_ thinking-” She drew on the pipe and puffed out smoke like a chimney, making sure to set the embers burning a little brighter, “ _I’m_ thinking that it's more the _explosion_ and less the _rats_ you should be worried about.”

The captive’s head whipped around, eyes wide and searching in the gloom. He shifted and rolled, trying to find a weakness in the rope, trying to find a way to get the gag out of his mouth.

Cadash punched him in the jaw for his efforts.

He groaned from the floor, and Cadash hauled him upright again, balancing the still-lit pipe on top of the barrel at his back. She had a dagger in one hand and the other had a finger hooked in his gag, “Scream and I slit your throat, got it?” The feverish nodding was enough to get her to tug the offending cloth down.

“It weren’t me!”

Cadash looked over one shoulder, then the other, and then back again. She tilted her head.

“I mean it wuddn’t my idea!”

“Mmm.”

“I- I- would never- _never_ betray the Car’a.” His voice shook and waivered, and the smile he tried to put on shook just as badly. He was missing an eye tooth. “Do I look stupid?”

“You really want me to answer that?” Cadash snagged her pipe back and barely kept it going out. She twirled her wrist with the dagger, encouraging the man to continue.

His breathing was getting more shallow, eyes darting here and there in the dark, “Look. If I- if I _tell_ you who was involved, then you...you have to protect me.”

“What, like - ” The dwarf scoffed, voice turning high and mocking, “they’re gonna _kill you?_ ”

“Yes!”

Cadash was on him in a heartbeat, stiletto blade pressed tight against his throat. The pipe clenched in her teeth was a _whisper_ from his left eye. _“_ _I’m_ _gonna kill you.”_ She gritted out, turning the blade just enough to nick.

He froze, seemingly reluctant even to breathe, _“Please,”_ he whispered, _“I have a daughter.”_

Cadash stayed close a moment longer before she eased back, even going so far as to sheath the blade again, “Yeah, I know.”

He sighed out a relieved breath, before that tidbit caught up. Valdis knew from experience that people didn’t tend to like you knowing too much about their kids. Pity that’s the first thing she usually looked for then.

“You think I’m some green cutpurse?” Tilting her head back, she blew smoke to the ceiling, watching him again. “I know everything about you, Grocer. We don’t just pick people on a whim. You haven’t got family. Hardly anyone would miss you. Your brother and two cousins died at Ostagar. Your wife died some time back, leaving you to raise your pretty little blonde Beatrice all by yourself. Well.” Valdis smirked, “All by yourself since you keep ignoring that chandler widow.”

The dwarf tapped out her pipe over her knee. She wasn’t really ever going to blow a whole stockpile of lyrium. Especially not with her in it. What was she, a moron? Just needed him scared first. She tucked the thing away again and plied at the real leverage in this conversation. “Your Beatrice though - Bea. Lovely girl. So friendly. And so _curious_ too. Did you know I let her fondle me out back of the inn? Soft hands, that one.”

She couldn’t decide if the man looked more disgusted or scared. It was a fitting sort of face for him, at any rate. And since he didn’t seem to be finding his voice any time soon, Dis went on, “She likes me, your daughter. Would probably trust me to take care of her when you’re dead, real easy. She’d make good bait for certain jobs.”

“I-”

“Seeing as how you’d rather die than sell out your friends. I wonder if she’s a virg-”

“That’s- alright. _Alright._ There’s a Templar.”

“Of course there is.”

“There’s a Templar that comes ‘round, he and his two buddies.” The Grocer looks down, at his hands, tied, in his lap, “They came ‘round nearly just after the Conclave got announced.” He flinched, hearing the controlled rage beneath the dwarf’s deep inhale, “They told me the area was gonna get busy. Dangerous-like. I don’t know how, but they found out I had lyrium.”

“ _You_ had lyrium.”

“I wasn’t exactly gonna win friends preachin’ to all an’ sundry I’m on the take with _Carta_ , was I?”

“Mind your tone, Grocer.”

The man huffed, sniffling, “They took a bottle each the first week, then more - and now they’re takin’ one a day. At first...at first they were dilutin’ some with elfroot to make count. Now, they don’t even bother.”

“ _We_ noticed. You’re a holding stop, Grocer, not a dispensary.”

“I’d’ve done it, you know, made count….if I’d known how. Wouldn’t have had to come here. No one woulda noticed.” His voice got a whinging drag to it, “They’re gonna _kill_ me, they find out.”

Dis sighed and reached for him. A clever bit of loop and tug, and all the ropes disassembled and fell loose. The man looked up, questioning. “You’re gonna act like everything is fine. _Everything_ is fine - do you hear me? Good. You’re gonna point these boys out to me in whichever way you think won’t get you shanked. And _then_ you’re gonna look the other way when fresh turned dirt shows up somewhere on your property. You understand?”

“What about Bea?”

“What about Bea?” She was honestly bewildered. Dis started coiling the rope as the man picked himself up off the floor, “I’m not kidnapping your kid, you moron. I’m murdering templars. Keep up.”

“But what about the missing stock?”

“Do you _want_ me to take your daughter?”

“NO!!”

“Then shut up about her! Now. Do you - Fergus - understand what I’ve said to you? Or do I need to get creative in how I ask next?”

“I understand! I swear.”

“Good. Now get out of my sight. I’ve got inventory to take.” Dis waited, a little meanly, until the grocer had stumbled up most of the stairs before she lit the lantern she’d squirreled away nearby. Had a good chuckle as he clipped a foot and hit his shins. Tall people tripping never got less funny.

She sighed, hands on her hips. This was gonna be a long afternoon.

* * *

Dis was just stepping ‘round back, far past ready for a proper smoke, when three half-dead assholes stumbled out of the woods and glared at her something fierce. She ought to finish the job for the disrespect. Except. Except she recognized one of those half-dead assholes.

She stepped back into the line of the building, moving behind an empty crate before she lit her pipe. This was turning out to be a little bit of a boon, maybe. Oh what was one or two more missing bottles of lyrium at this point? Especially when they could be turned into free muscle. Dis was wondering how smooth her talk would have to be to get the other two as well. More fighters meant more targets, meant less chance of her karking it taking on three Templars.

Fucking Templars.

Dis gave up this particular smoke as a bad job and went all the way down the backside of the shops. The Inn was last on this side of the street and, lucky for Dis, the only two story building in town. Didn’t typically get a lot of visitors out here, and she had to hand it to the townsfolk for not rioting or lynching anyone yet. It was probably only a matter of time.

Stopping to lean next to the back door, she nodded at the kitchen boy sitting on the stoop, peeling potatoes. He nodded her inside and she clapped him on the shoulder as she walked past. Good kid, really. He’d be better off in a real city, though.

Cook was too busy to have eyes, it seemed, and Dis now had the best spot in the house to listen without being seen. She inched the door out to the main room open, and sure enough - that familiar smooth voice made itself known.

_“What do you mean, no room? You sold it to me this morning.”_

_“But- but no one had seen you in town since then, and-!”_

_“And you thought I was dead? Uh huh. Alright. Are they here?”_

_“What?”_

_“Are. They. Here.”_

_“Right- right over there.”_

Dis risked opening the door a hair more, to be able to peek out. The main room was starting to fill up, but she’d recognize that giant anywhere. Those horns. That...arrow? What in the hell was she doing, wearing that thing like a war medal? Lunatic Qunari. Maybe she didn’t have any potions for the aftermath. This was looking better and better.

She’d stopped at a table and was leaned over having a word with whatever poor sot had bought her room for the night. Dis couldn’t hear what she was saying, but the man looked ready to piss himself. Good. _Best to start a reputation early; that could definitely work-_ oh what the hell. The Qunari was slapping good money on the table. Buying him off? _“What? Why?”_

Dis watched as the Qunari came back, collected her two humans, and stomped off down the hall, bypassing the stairs. Thank fuck. Climbing wasn’t really her strong suit. She eased the door shut and crept her way to the back door. She slipped the kid a silver as she passed him going out. She heard the cook yelling, and the boy answering, but Dis was already preoccupied trying to sneak a look in each of the open windows down the back side.

She stopped when she heard the Qunari again, pressing herself to the wall beneath the window. The daggers at her hips thunked against the clapboard, and Dis rolled her eyes at such a rookie mistake. The voices stopped, and someone walked up to the window, but a long moment passed with nothing. She was in the clear. Dis smiled and turned to look up, only to come face-to-face with a pissed off Qunari.

_“Yeeeaa-lemme-go!”_ Dis yelped as she got hefted up and unceremoniously dropped on the floor. Scrabbling to her feet, she rubbed at her backside, “Is that a way to greet an old friend?”

The Qunari barked a laugh, “Are we friends now, little spy?”

“I’m hurt, Hissera, honestly hurt. I thought we had something, you and I.”

One of the humans was occupying the sole bed in the room, and the other stood between Dis and his invalid friend, a dagger out. “You know her?”

After a long, searching look and an aborted attempt to cross her arms, the Qunari relented, “Yeah, I know her. Sneaky little shit - but good in a bind.”

“And in bed.”

“Don’t advertise, Dis, it’s crass.” Hissera moved to sit in the one chair in the room, easing herself down - more concerned for the integrity of the chair than the ease of her muscles.

“You want help with that?” Coming over when the Qunari nodded, Dis looked the wound over - trying to decide if this was a through or back out. “So - _introduce me_ \- who are your new friends?”

“Dis, Ronan; Ronan, Dis.” She didn’t bother introducing Cormac. The poor fucker probably wasn’t gonna last the night anyway, “Hey, lady, are you gonna pull that out, or are you trying to check if I’m tender enough to cook over there?” Hissera winced and nearly punched the rogue in the head when she wiggled the arrow, “Hey! That’s _really_ in there, alright? Shit.”

“Yeah, yeah it is. Solid hit, whoever did it.” Looking up, she noticed Hissera making eyes with an uncomfortable Ronan. She turned to regard the conscious man, “You?” When he didn’t deny it, Dis laughed, “Honey, you have _got_ to stop meeting people this way. We’re bad for your health.”

“ _You’re_ bad for my health, at least.”

“You want to save these leathers, or what?”

“The fuck you mean ‘or what’? Of course I do! They’re the only ones I-” Hissera grunted, going stiff in the chair as Dis snapped the feathered end off the thing. “ _Some_ warning, you little shit.”

“And where’s the fun in that?” She let the Qunari wind up a lecture, or a dressing down, or whatever it was she thought she was doing, before putting the flat of her blade to the broken end of the arrow and _shoving_.

“Fuck!” Hissera drummed her feet against the floor, and snarled down at the dwarf. “I swear, if you-” The next moment, the bolt was ripped free from the other side and it took everything in her not to cry out. “I hate you. So bad.” The words were bitten off between clenched teeth.

Dis rifled around in her belt pouch, vials clinking together, she came up with a red one and held it out. “Do you? Do you really?”

“And what’ll that cost me?”

“Ooh! She _can_ learn.” Dis stared at the Qunari a moment, dithering over her approach. Direct was best with this sort, though, so, “I need to teach a couple or three Templars not to mess around in Carta affairs. The ringleader needs to end up dead.”

_“Carta!?”_ Ronan's eyes locked on the tattoo on the dwarf's cheek.

“I’m not killing a man for a potion, Dis.”

“Oh? And how much do you like your little friend there on the cot?” The dwarf gave Ronan a once-over, “Or maybe I should ask _you_ how much you like him. I’ve got some information that might prove useful in saving him.”

“He’s gonna be fine. He just needs to rest.” From where he sat on the bed, the archer looked down at his friend, and it was clear he didn’t believe his own words. “He’s already drank four or five potions. They’re just taking time to kick in. Besides, I don’t need to get involved with Carta.” He gave Hissera a hard look, startling a little to find the dwarf had moved closer.

Dis leaned in and stared at the man’s pale face; he was sweating and groaning. “Yeah...he’s gonna die. You know that, right? Whatever’s wrong with him, it’s wrong on the inside. He needs a healer, not a potion.”

“What’s the difference?”

Dis blinked up at the man. Truly. The ignorance in the wide world was astounding. “Why do you think Hissera here left that arrow in? Souvenir?” When Ronan just stared at her blankly, Dis sighed in disgust, “Potions can only speed up the healing process. If she’d’ve drank that potion with the arrow still in - it would’ve healed around it. Would’ve made it painful to get out.”

“ _More_ painful,” The Qunari added, already wrapping her wound.

“More painful, whatever. The thing is, those potions help your friend heal faster, but there’s something _inside_ him that’s causing a fresh wound, and eventually potions won’t be able to heal him faster than he’s bleeding.” She reached for his tunic, and was stopped. “Really?” When the archer let her go, Dis pulled the garment up, revealing a large purpling bruise, “There - see? He’s bleeding on the inside.”

Ronan looked at the dwarf, trying to weigh his options. He watched Adaar carefully wrap the length of linen around her arm and wondered if that meant even someone who knew the dwarf would rather not take her help. “What’s the information?”

Dis chuckled, “That’s not how this works, buddy. Agreement first, information second.”

“What good is information when he’s dying _right now?_ ”

“Look, I don’t care either way. Your friend dies, he doesn’t - that’s no nevermind to me. Those Templars aren’t going anywhere. They’ve got a pretty sweet racket going on in this town. Stealing lyrium, ganging on passers-through. They’ll keep. Your friend won’t. Agreement now, help later. I can wait until after he’s healed up to collect.” She gave a grin, “I’m a patient sort.”

Hissera sighed heavily, “Goddamnit, Dis.”

“What?” Dis knew she was ruining the innocent tone with her smiling, but she already had the Qunari on the hook.

“They’re _robbing_ folks in the town?”

“What’s it to you? You’re not the local militia….of which there is only _one_ member.” She couldn't help the insufferably smug tone in her voice.

“Of course you know that.” Hissera's voice was flat. Unamused. “Fucking...give me the potion. Give me the potion and tell him what you can and I’ll help you deal with these fucking Templars.” Ronan looked at her, shocked, “Just - don’t - look at me like that, Fereldan. I have a...thing.”

“A saving people thing.”

“Yeah. That. Now cough up the goods, dwarf.”

Dis tossed the vial to her newest Templar pincushion, and turned to the men on the bed, “Here’s the info: a spirit healer came into town a couple of days ago. Maybe one of the last ones you'll ever see. Only lit out this morning. You’re a day behind, but if you’ve got a horse - or can steal one-”

“Don’t encourage that!”

“-you could catch up. He’s a cute little thing. Young. Dark skinned, with close cut hair and blue robes with belled sleeves. He’s traveling with a Templar - all shiny armor and long blonde hair. They’ve got two chestnut horses.”

“I...I don’t have a horse.”  
  


“Oh?” Dis asked, hopeful in her tone. When the Qunari made a noise of disgust, she continued, “What a shame - but then, _I_ have access to a horse.”

“One you’ve _stolen?_ ”

“You know, _Hissy_ , I’m gonna start getting offended one of these days if you keep assuming everything I do is illegal.”

“I’ll stop assuming that, _Valdis,_ when it stops being true.”

Glaring at each other, the stalemate was only broken when Ronan spoke up again, “Whatever, I’ll take it. I’ll light out tonight, and when I get back, _if_ I get back with the healer, _and_ he agrees to help, _then_ I’ll help you with these Templars.”

“That’s what I like to hear.” Dis patted him on the cheek, before he could dodge out of her reach, and then made her way to the door. “Meet me at the stables in twenty minutes. I’ll have your ride ready to go.”

After the dwarf had left, Ronan turned to his newest ‘friend’, who was carefully unwinding the now useless bandages. “You trust her?”

“I trust her to do what she says she’s gonna do. Anything more? Not a fucking chance.”


	5. The Glorious Five

**Chapter Four**

Alexander had poured everything he had into healing Cane. Everything and more. He felt drained. Sick. Listless. Many, many times he heard the whispers of demons - the siren song of help and rest. Several times he was tempted. More times than he’d like to admit, actually. But every time he said no. _Every_ time he pushed back the whispers and the feeling of grasping hands. He didn’t think Cane would be particularly pleased to have been saved by a demon’s help.

He didn’t think _he’d_ be particularly proud to have saved Cane with it either.

Alex had managed to wrestle the Templar out of his armor (cursing the whole while), and he had managed to assemble their tent (also cursing), but now, almost a day later, he was at a loss. He needed to sleep to better replenish his mana, or - really - what he needed was lyrium. Cane was going to shit when he realized Alex had drunk every drop of the stuff in a mile. But it couldn’t be helped. That Avaar giant had beat him to within a breath of walking into his Maker’s embrace.

And while Lucius might’ve been keen to make it to the golden city, Alex wasn’t really ready to let him go just yet. So he’d nursed Cane through the night and the worst of the fever from his injuries. Alex dreaded the thought of the Templar having to go through withdrawal. He’d read about it, you know, in theory. He’d read about a lot of things. But Templars of the Ostwick Circle had never been without, and he’d never seen the symptoms or the desperation first hand. And he wasn’t exactly looking forward to it.

The sun was starting to climb - he could tell mostly by the shadows of the trees against the tent and the relentless pull of his eyelids. Still. He had things yet to do. And he had just started to feel secure enough to leave Lucius on his own - long enough for bodily functions and to figure out the food situation - when he heard the rustle of leaves outside. The horses were staked out back of the tent. The leaves - footsteps - were coming from the front.

“Shit.” Instantly alert, Alex quickly shucked his robes and grabbed the scabbard holding Lucius’ sword. Better to let them think him a swordsman, and let magic be the surprise. _Oh this was going to be a disaster._ He had no magic. He didn’t know how to fight, either. And - moving, in general, made him want to throw up just now. He crawled on his elbows up to the flap and peeked out as low to the ground as he could.

A pair of boots was all he could see, but they passed by the front of the tent, without pausing. He was heading around back to where the horses were tied. _A horse thief!_ Oh, no. Oh, no, no, no. Alex was prepared to do a lot of things, but _walk on foot_ the rest of the way to the Conclave wasn’t one of them.

Alex fumbled with the ties, and all but launched himself out of the tent. _Heave._ He drew the sword from its sheath as he made his way to where the horses were tied, and tried not to let his eyes cross. The boots he’d seen belonged to a man. A red-headed man wearing leathers, with a bow slung over his shoulder.

“Stop! Right there!” Alex held the sword in what he hoped was an intimidating sort of way. Or at least something that looked right. The earth moved beneath his feet and his vision swam for an uncomfortable moment. He readjusted to holding the sword with both hands. The scabbard fell to the ground.

Putting his hands up, the man turned, slowly, eyes taking in everything about Alex. He had an odd, nervous sort of air about him. He sniffed, and Alex couldn’t help thinking he looked rather rabbity. “That’s- not another step! Those are our horses! And...stealing is a crime.”

The man looked back at the horses, then at Alex. “Those are yours?”

“Yes. I just said so, didn’t I?”

“Yours and another man’s? Blonde fella, is he?”

“That’s-” Alex lifted the sword a little higher - huffing a breath - oh but _how_ did Lucius do this all the time? “-what of it?”

“You must be the mage then.”

“I’m- well- I’m currently the man pointing a sword at you.” Alex shuffled closer. Either to Rabbit’s credit, or Alex’s lack of actual intimidation, the man didn’t move. “What do you want?”

“Your help.”

“My-” He lowered the sword, his arm muscles screaming in relief, only to point it at the man again, “ _Why_ do you want my help?”

“My friend’s injured - back in town. Needs a healer. There’s a dwarf that said there was a spirit healer and a Templar. Both riding chestnut horses-” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder to the two horses in question - both with matching coats. “-a blonde in armor, and a dark skinned fella in blue robes.” His eyes look Alex up and down, almost like he’s willing the robes to appear.

Alex had a moment where he wondered if he still had them on - and looked. A mistake. His equilibrium was all off, and he pitched backwards. He blacked out - only a moment, he’s sure - but when he came to, the Rabbit was blinking down at him, nose twitching. Alex had a moment to register he was on the ground, being held in the man’s arms like some copper-novel heroine, before he scrabbled away.

“You alright?”

“I’m...fine.” It was really no use. Alex sighed, sitting up, now doing some sizing up of his own of the man across from him. “I can’t help you.”

“I can pay-”

“That’s- I’m not saying I don’t _want_ to. I’m saying I can’t. My friend got injured and I’m all out of mana, just trying to keep him alive.” Realizing, a little too late, he’s all but told the man he’s defenseless, Alex looks around for the sword. It’s closer to Rabbit than him, and he locks eyes with the other man.

It’s a long moment, and neither one of them moves. “If I help you get your friend back to town - where he can rest up proper, will you save mine?”

“I...I _can’t_. I have to keep Lucius alive, and it's taking every bit of mana I have. I’ve taken the last of the lyrium we packed.”

"If that's what you need..." Rabbity man snorts, “Where we’re going, you don’t have to worry about lyrium.” The archer stands up, brushing off his pants, “You know that dwarf I told you about?” Alex nods, and the man holds out his hand to help him up, “She can get you whatever you need, I reckon.”

“Oh.” Alex stands awkwardly, not exactly sure where to go from here, when all that training kicks in. “Ah, um-” He holds out his hand, “Alexander Trevelyn, but most people call me Alex.”

“Ronan.” The man answers, shaking Alex’s hand with enthusiasm, “Most people call me Ronan, on account’a it's the only name I got.” He snorted and bent to pick up the sword, careful as he handed it back to Alex.

“That’s- Oh. Thank you. Alright. Well. I suppose we should...break camp? Tell me, Ronan...how much experience do you have with tents?”

* * *

  
  
The mage couldn't help but sneak looks over his shoulder - to check that Lucius was still there.

“He’s still there.”

“Yes! I- yes, I see that.” Alex flushed at getting caught out, and turned back forward, walking as stiff as a Templar on parade. Ronan - if that was actually his name - did something remarkably clever with tent poles and tarp. He’d told Alex it was called a dogsled, but there were probably a couple of reasons why that was wrong. Chief among them being that it was tied to a _horse_. Also, Alex was _fairly_ certain it was called a travois. But he wasn’t about to say an Orlesian word to a Ferelden. And especially not while he had both hands full of horses’ reins.

“You Ferelden?”

And there it was. “Ah, no. Not... _exactly_.” What was it about Fereldens that meant they were utterly unable to keep from talking about everyone’s nationality? Ready to get into an argument at any given moment about the merits of the land within some arbitrary borders where one happened to be born. Soon enough he’d be preaching the merits of Mabari as everything from sled dogs to nannies, and of course Ferelden cheese. Which naturally was inferior to that in the Free Marches anyway. Why they-

“Alex!”

“What! Yes? No. I’m sorry - what were you saying?”

“How are you ‘not exactly’ Ferelden?”

“Oh. Okay, sorry.” Off in his own little world. Once again. The Enchanter had scolded him for it throughout the years and it _constantly_ got him exasperated sighs and annoyed looks. _Help him, he was doing it again._ “I mean that uh...while my family has ties to Ferelden, far back in our history, I was born in the...Free Marches.”

_“Really?”_

“Really.” Alex confirmed, oddly offended at the incredulous tone. He looked over at the man and frowned. Ronan wasn’t looking his way. Seemed more focused on the road ahead.

“Hmm. You don’t _sound_ like a Free Marcher.”

“And what’s _that_ supposed to mean!?”

“Don’t- get your smalls in a twist. I only meant, you don’t have the accent for it.” They walked along in silence a moment, before Ronan felt compelled to add, “Truth be told, you sound a bit like toity Ferelden lord.”

“Oh.” Alexander chewed the words of his response, trying to find a way to answer that was polite. “Well, I...my family has something of a...holding in Ostwick, and I had a Ferelden tutor.”

“Holding what?”

“No, not like- they’re...my father’s the bann. They’re rich. They have _holdings._ ”

“You say that like you aren’t. That you don’t.”

Alex huffs a laugh, but when it doesn’t seem like his companion is joking, he speaks up, “That’s- well, had I not been... _magically inclined_ ...I would have taken over for my father as head of household, naturally. It would have been mine, I could've taken care of my family. I would’ve been trained up as heir apparent. I _was_ , actually...for a time. Until my magic- until the Templars--” Alex sighed, a sudden despondency taking him over. He started as he realized the archer had stopped astride his horse and was staring at him. “What?”

“I forget.” Ronan shrugged, “I think we all do. That... _magic_ ...has a way a’takin’ things from people. You think of it as this great, powerful thing. As this…” He shakes his head, unsure how to continue, but knowing he has to, “...great, unknowable, untameable thing. This...power.” He thinks, then, of Alex’s struggle taking down the tent. Of how strange and foreign every little _normal_ thing seemed to him. It would’ve been one thing if he hadn’t tried - like Ronan imagined nobles wouldn’t have, now that he knew the man came from money. They would’ve thought themselves above it. Alex wasn’t like that. He was curious and eager. Just...new. New to a lot of things that should’ve been his to know already. And it was hard to hate someone so...trusting. He made Ronan want to watch out for the kid.

Alex shrugged, self-conscious, an awkward smile on his face. “It has its uses.”

“Course it does,” Ronan snipped back, uncomfortable all of a sudden. He shook himself free of whatever fever fit had stolen his mouth and snapped his horse’s reins, getting started again. “Course it does.”

The rest of the trip back to Murkwell passed in bouts of uneasy, but not unbearable silence, interspersed with the tale of the Magister's ambush.

* * *

  
  


Dis was waiting outside the inn, haloed by the lamplight at the corner of the building. When the men got a little closer, she called out, “The triumphant hero returns!” Gesturing widely at the train of horses following, she quickly snuffs her pipe. “Found them easy enough, did you?” She frowns, noticing now only the mage is walking, trailing two horses.

“He’s back there. On the dogsled. Got hurt fighting a Magister’s men, apparently.”

“Magister?” Dis’ eyebrows hit her hairline and she craned her neck to look after where the little Templar must’ve been.

“Wot he said.” Ronan dismounted smoothly and switched the reins from hand to hand, unsure whether to just hand them over or not, when the decision was made for him.

Dis snatched them and pulled the horse a little behind and out of her way. “This way, with those two - we’ve got room set up for them.”

“Oh! Are you the dwarf?” Alex’s eyes went wide as dinner plates, “Of course you’re a Dwarf. I have eyes. I’m looking at you right now - not that! You’re worthy of being looked at- _not that you’re unworthy of being looked at!”_ He shook his head, and, panicking, turned to whisper-yell at Ronan, _“HELP!”_

Dis barked a laugh that turned into a grackling sort of wheezing thing. It spooked her horse, which spooked the other two, which set Ronan off, and by the time everyone got calmed down Alex had managed to get two thoughts together to apologize.

“I’m so sorry-” Alex tried again, desperate not to have this poor dwarf woman think he was some sort of country bumpkin or inbred racist. They’d led the horses into the Inn’s stable, putting one in a stall, but the other had to be unhitched from the travois first, “I _really_ am much better at meeting new people.”

“Are you?”

The question from the next stall over sounded curious, and Alex breathed a sigh of relief that she didn’t immediately sound angry. But. Well. There was nothing for it. “No. Not really. Lucius is usually the one to say our hellos and ask people for things. I generally just stand there.” He sighed, grateful Ronan was directing him where to put things and giving him something to do. “He says I don’t ‘people’ well.”

Dis snorted, “ _That’s_ an understatement.”

“Well, to be fair - you _are_ the first dwarf I’ve ever met.” Having been handed gear to hang up, Alex stopped in front of the stall where the nice dwarf woman was wrestling her horse to get it's head down low enough. She gave him an incredulous look over her shoulder. “Well! Not the first I’ve _seen_ , obviously. Your people are everywhere-I don’t mean!” Alex took a deep breath in through his nose, and let it go. “I mean to say - I have seen dwarves before, but none of us had ever been introduced. Hello. Hi. My name is Alexander Trevelyn, and I’m really much less idiotic than I sound.”

To his utter astonishment, she chuckled again.

“Hello Alexander,” She finally got the damn halter off, and shooed the boy so she could make her way out of the stall. Dis hung the gear and then turned to face him, hands on her hips. “I’m Dis. Dis Cadash.”

“Ah! _Dizz._ ” He drew out the last letter, brain already supplying far too much information that he really shouldn’t say out loud. Except, “Dis. From the Neromenian, meaning wise woman, seer, or goddess.” Before he could beg for Ronan to come put him out of his misery, Dis snorted and walked past him, patting him on the arm.

“I like you, kid. You can stay.” She gestured the mage over, looking down at the warrior on the sledge. “Tell me about him. Something about a Magister?”

“Oh. Yes. Well - technically the Magister never got out of the carriage.”

“Wait. Big black thing - six matching black horses?”

“Yes.”  
  


“Well shit. Heard about it. Sorry I missed it. Could’ve made a killing stealing some Magister’s gold hair combs.”

“Oh that- that wouldn’t have been a good idea. She. She was very well protected. Multiple guards and a giant...well, a giant. Big, Avaar barbarian with blue woad all over his face and a club the size of you.”

Ronan walked up, completing the little circle around the Templar’s head, “If you girls are done comparing nails, we can head inside.”

Alex couldn’t think of anything quippy to say. The dwarf just smirked. When she walked past Ronan, she faked a punch to his groin. His responding yelp and jumping flinch was enough to set off her crackling laugh again.

Ronan looked to Alex, like he was waiting for reproval. Alex shook his head and held his hands up, “Don’t look at me. I’d have screamed.”

* * *

As it turned out, the once-cozy room was rather packed now. Space had been cleared by Adaar hefting the wardrobe and desk into the hall. The Innkeeper was sure to complain, but there wasn’t any other way to cram so many people in one room. The green-tinged and sweating rogue was taking up the only bed and the Templar was laying on a makeshift pallet across from him. The mage and the archer were with their respective unconscious friends, Hissara was standing at the window, and _somehow_ Dis Cadash had managed to commandeer the only chair in the room.

The situation had been laid bare once again. Cadash needed muscle to help her teach Templars a lesson. Ronan needed a mage to heal his friend. The mage needed lyrium to do the healing, and for his Templar to take. From where Cadash was sitting, this was all turning up peaches. An archer, a fighter, and a mage to help her square off against those Templar bastards, and all she was really out was a couple of vials of lyrium and a healing potion that she had thought was a little dodgy to start with.

For what felt like the hundredth time, Alex started up again, “I’ve no objections helping you _intimidate_ these people- well. I have no objections _standing there_ while you intimidate these people. But I can’t just be a party to murder. It’s illegal!”

“Like horse stealing?”

“Well it is.” Alex frowned at Ronan’s wry look. He knew good and well it had been an inane thing to say at the time. It didn’t make it any less true.

Dis sighed. The sacrifices she made for this job. The lies she had to tell, too. “Alright, kid, here’s how it has to play out. That little band of Templars stole from me and mine. They want to reimburse me, I’ll let them. If they don't…?”

Alex well and truly hated how reasonable that sounded. “But, what if it’s only the man in charge? What if the others didn’t really want to go along with it? Or what if they thought they couldn’t say no? That-” He looked around, hoping for backup. It didn’t seem to be forthcoming, “That could happen, you know.”

“So they don’t pay up. I’ll give them a chance to leave. Or they can stay. And die with their boss. How’s that? It’s the most generous offer I’ve ever made, and likely will ever make again.”

“They stole from Dis - from the Carta - they’ve been robbing pilgrims and Conclave goers.” Hissera recrossed her arms and tried to get comfortable, leaning against the window sill. “Alex, I get it, you want to do the right thing. And that’s admirable. What you know is what you know. Your Templar there may be the second coming of the Maker, but these Templars aren’t good people. Period. They won’t pay back the money, and they’ll probably even be the ones to start the fight.”

Seeing that the kid was almost pushed to their side, Dis pulled the final piece into place, “Hey!” She tossed up her hands and got out of the chair, “You don’t want to help, you don’t have to.” He sighed in relief, and she smiled, “But no help means no lyrium.” She opened the door and paused, for effect, in the doorway, “If you can live with Cormac’s death being on your hands, kid, then more power to ya. Doesn’t bother me either way.” She didn’t hardly get the next step before he called out.

“Wait!”

Dis grinned, wide enough to wrinkle the tattoo on her cheek. Her back was still to the room, but it was hard not to hear the pleased tone of her voice, “I’ll go get the lyrium. You kids sit tight.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Revelyn" has been changed to "Ronan", because in my infinite wisdom I did not forsee how much of a problem Revelyn v. Trevelyn would be. Aesthetically. (He can also be called the 'Archer formerly known as Revelyn'.)


	6. Bar-room Blitz

**Chapter Five**

It took until the next evening for the Templars to show back up. For which Alex was immeasurably grateful. He had spent the whole day more or less napping, trying to sleep the jitters of too much lyrium out of his system. He wondered if this was what withdrawal was like, because he simultaneously never wanted to touch lyrium again and also wanted to beg the dwarf for five or six more bottles.

Most of his day, between naps and slight existential crises, was spent checking in on his two patients. They both seemed to be on the mend well enough, and were thankfully not awake too often or too long to be annoying about being kept on bed rest. While Lucius complained, he did at least assume Alex had his best interests at heart when he told him to stay put. (Even if he did give the mage a very long lecture about trusting strangers.)

Cormac, however, was another story. Luckily, there was a nearly seven foot tall Qunari woman made entirely out of muscle and pain-making that impressed upon the man the importance of resting. Alex found it all quite amusing. Until Cormac, with great delight in Alex’s horror, told him just how he’d _gotten_ those injuries. Suddenly, Hissera seemed a lot more menacing than stoic.

* * *

By evening, though, Alex was revising his estimation once again. Menacing was good. Menacing was helpful. Dis had pointed out a table where seven Templars were sitting, having dinner, and generally making _way_ too much noise. Seven. And there were only four of them. Well. Really, two. How good Alex was going to be against seven Templars could be best described as ‘not at all’. And Ronan was an archer - not the greatest if you’re planning on starting a fight in an inn.

Which apparently, Dis was. If the way she just confidently strode up to the table was anything to go by.

_“Oh, dear Maker. Ohhh, sweet Andraste.”_

“You gonna be okay, kid?” Hissera raised an eyebrow at the little mage. He was chewing on his cuticles pretty aggressively, and he wasn’t even attempting to look like he was there for a drink. She flicked her eyes back over to where Dis had gone, but it looked like she was still talking at this point.

_“Me? Yes. Why? Why wouldn’t I be? Only the four of us against a whole squad of Templars. What’s the pr-eh-problem?”_

Hissera snorted a laugh at the boy’s panicked whispering. Her own voice was pitched low as she tried to reassure him, “Take a breath. It's gonna be alright. Five against seven isn’t terrible odds.”

“Five?” Alex perked up at that.

“Ah, yeah. While you were playing Sister of Mercy, I went and talked to _the_ militia.” Hissera gave a slight nod of her head across the room, “That’s him over there, next to Ronan.”

Alex looked ‘round, noticing the older man next to the archer. Too old. He gave a half-hysterical sort of laugh, “And he- what? Agreed to murder Templars for the Carta?”

_“Keep your voice down!”_ The warrior hissed, glaring at the next patrons down the bench. _Shit._ They’d heard. Hissera weighed their options, then jerked her head towards the door. The two took it for the permission to leave that it was, and scarpered out the front.

Ronan, apparently, took that to be a good idea and followed her example. He leaned over to talk to some men having drinks near him. They seemed to chat a minute with the militia guy, and then all four got up and walked out.

After that, the feel of the dining room went stiff with anticipation. There was a noticeable tension that had patrons looking about, shifty-eyed and questioning. Several untucked themselves from the benches, ready to spring up. The man behind the bar stopped his barmaid from going out on the floor. That, more than anything, finally tipped the Templars.

The two farthest from Dis stood up slowly, the awkward clamor and clank of their armor making the whole process a little less threatening than it might’ve been otherwise. They were the only two still wearing their plate, but all of them were armed. And, as far as Alex was concerned, they didn’t need any of it to put him out of commission.

Hissera couldn’t quite make out what the Templar was saying to Dis, as he was talking low and in her face. Obviously trying to intimidate her. The Qunari could’ve told him it was a lost cause - Dis treated threats like come-ons. The dwarf put her hands on her hips, though, and Hissera took the signal.

Adaar climbed out of her seat on the bench, rolled her shoulders, and stood to her full height. She tipped her head back to stare down the Templars that had turned her direction. She didn’t break eye contact - even when she heard the little mage fumble and curse standing up. When they’d split their attention, she realized Ronan and Militia (whatever his name was) had stood up too.

Two more Templars stood up and Dis’ hands went to her daggers.

“Anyone not a part of this-” The Carta dwarf raised her voice and slid one of her daggers free, “-anyone who doesn’t want to be gutted! You’ve got ten seconds to make it to the door.”

There was a beat of silence.

Another.

The Templar nearest Dis sneered and opened his mouth to talk.

Cadash plunged her dagger into his face.

The Templar wasn’t the only one screaming, as patrons made their mad dash for the exits. Benches scraped and toppled over as people tried to flee. The rest of the Templars scrambled to get up and get to their friend. The one closest threw a punch from where he was sitting.

“Dis!” Alex yelled and pushed his magic outward - green light settled around the four fighters, flickering, but there.

The Templar’s wild swing glanced off the barrier, and he went crashing to the floor.

Cadash slammed a dagger into the back of his neck and rolled away, springing up with two new weapons in hand.

The crowds parted, yelping and crying and stumbling to get away from the big Qunari. Adaar drew weapons and stalked to the center of the room, rolling her wrists - dagger in one hand, axe in the other, “C’MON!”

Three Templars turned her way. The Qunari roared as she swung and the Templar stumbled back, slamming into the table. His linen shirt was staining red. Adaar fended off another’s sword with the guard of her knife, before kicking out for the third’s knee.

Two more went for Dis, but she managed to separate them, sliding over a table. The rest went for Adaar, but Ronan and the Militiaman were quick to keep them from closing ranks.

Alex skirted his way around the room, holding the barriers best he could, casting anew as they flickered out. Indoors wasn’t the best place for a fire spell, so defense it was. And he was grateful they were all too distracted to remember they could Smite him.

The Templar on the floor hadn’t gotten up.

The one with a bloody socket for an eye was somehow still in the fight, prowling around to try and flank Ronan for his buddy. Luckily, the archer wasn’t bad with a pair of daggers. Not as deadly as Dis, but he was holding his own, especially with backup.

The Templars had numbers, but the others seemed to have strategy on their side. Or maybe they were just used to fighting dirty. They skirted tables and kicked benches. Dis threw steak knives to keep one at bay. The Militaman had done _something_ to a Templar that had his blood painting the bar front even after he’d fallen.

Alex now had his back to the stairs. He was panting with the effort of all this spellcasting, and realized he wasn’t fully rested. His hands shook, and his vision was going dark at the edges. He could hear someone whispering in his ear - multiple someones. _Just a little longer_.

He was just about to feel proud of renewing his spell, probably for the last time, when he went down. Hard. Alex’s head bounced off the wood floor and he writhed, gasping for breath. An acrid taste on the back of his tongue. His magic was snuffed.

Rolling onto his back, he looked up into the faceplate of a Templar.

“Hello again, little mage.” The voice was smooth and slithering. He drew back his arm to plunge his sword into Alex, but grunted in pain and stopped. He pivoted on his heel and brought his sword up defensively. There was a slash in his robes, with a dark spot forming at his hip where he’d been hit.

Lucius Cane was standing in the hallway. Mostly. One hand was braced against the wall, the other held his sword. He’d managed to get his breastplate on, but it hung wrong - off kilter.

“Should’ve known where he was, you wouldn’t be far away.”

Cane only snarled in response, batting away the lunge of the other man’s blade with more force and less finesse than he was used to. He had to step forward and slash, pushing the other Templar to circle as he tried to keep his footing.

Alex tried to cast a barrier, but he felt like a thousand knives were trying to burrow their way out, and he heaved, rolling onto his side. The whispers got stronger.

“Careful, _brother_ ,” The smooth voice taunted from beneath the helm. He jabbed and slashed at the other man, testing just how slow he was, circling. Drawing him away from the wall.

The Templar lunged and Cane parried, but not quick enough. Lucius went down with a yell, hobbled by the wound in his thigh.

“Pathetic.” The Templar raised his sword.

Lucius panted and smiled weakly, “Stalling.”

Metallic gurgling was all that could be heard in reply. Cormac had thrown himself on the man’s back and wedged a dagger up under his helm, just through the notch in the breastplate’s throat.

The two of them went crashing to the ground in a heap of armor and limbs and some truly creative cursing on Cormac’s part. The Templar struggled a moment or two more, but a wrenching of Cormac’s arm, and the other man stilled. Blood puddled quickly beneath him.

* * *

Hissera had one opponent left. All the other Templars were either downed or dead. The two of them circled each other, wary. She could see his eyes darting about the room. She was letting him get his back to the door, but he couldn’t tell why. Yet. The look in his eyes only said ‘run’.

He pivoted and got a step before he impaled himself on Dis’ knife. “Going somewhere, big boy?” Cadash twisted the knife, just to hear him whimper. She jerked the blade free and gave him a push. He toppled easy.

The Inn’s dining hall was a mess of bloody, groaning men on the ground. Though there were some wounds on their part, they got away more or less intact, thanks to the mage’s spells. Speaking of which, “Where’s the kid?”

They all looked around, but it wasn’t until Hissera boomed out his name that they got a weak response. Everyone crowded into the side hall to a pitiful sight. Cane was propped up against the wall, eyes closed, with Alex trying to help him out of his breastplate looking grossly ashen. Cormac was starfished on the ground, blood seeping into his clothes and hair from the dead Templar on the ground. All of them panting like they’d run miles.

“Well isn’t this just a pretty picture?” Dis squatted down and wrenched the last Templar’s helm off, turning his face to get a good angle.

“Snake face!”

Dis turned to look at the mage, who was now sat beside Lucius, propped up against the wall. Hissera had evidently taken pity on him and was managing just fine with Cane. “Excuse me?” She looked back at the man on the ground, “He doesn’t...look that snakey to me.”

“No, no - I mean-” Alex shook his head slowly, though it was more like rolling his head against the wall, “If you’d have heard him talk. He _ssounds sslow and sslithery_ when he talks. Like a snake.”

“Oh, real...slimey and condescending?”

“Yes. That’s right. He had friends, too. Fat Badger and Stork-Toad. They were very rude to us when we were here last, weren’t they, Lucius?”

“Very rude.” The Templar shared an amused look with the Qunari, rolling his eyes at the younger man’s prattling. He went where the big warrior moved him without complaint.

“Alright.” Dis let the man’s head _thump_ to the floor, “Fat Badger I get, and saw. He’s the one that barely fit in his armor. What’s Stork-Toad supposed to mean?”

“Tall like a stork, croaky voice like a toad.”

“Perfect.” Dis nodded, hands on her hips, “Those were our guys then.”

“Oh! The men who stole from _you_ were the same ones who were rude to _us?_ Isn’t that a lark? They said some very creepy and rude things. Got us into trouble with that Magister too. Well that’s just a nice bit of justice for you. Don’t you think, Lucius?”

The Templar only hummed in response, too busy wincing and prodding at his leg wound.

Hissera stood up, slowly. Eyes trained on the little dwarf. Her voice was low, but steady, “Are you telling me...that we just got into a fight with those men...and you didn’t even _know_ they were the ones that were stealing lyrium?”

“I got a description.” Dis did her level best _not_ to retreat when Hissera stepped forward.

“That’s not what I _asked_ , Dis.” 

“Well! When Alex described them, it matches what the- what my... _witness_ said.”

“VALDIS CADASH!”

“You can’t un-shit the bed, Hissera!” Dis threw her hands up, “I don’t know what you want me to say.”

“I want you to say that you _knew_ who we were fighting with. I want you to say that we _got the guys who fucked with you_. I want you to _say_ that we didn’t just _kill_ innocent _Templars_ for no _REASON!”_

The Qunari was standing _far_ too close for comfort. But never let it be said that Dis Cadash backed down from a fight. She ran her tongue along the edge of her teeth. Let the Qunari start it; Dis could get to her daggers quicker, “Sure. Whatever it takes to make you _feel_ better. They weren’t _innocent_. Happy?”

“I recognized all but the two in armor.” The Militiaman butted in, trying to keep _another_ bloodbath off the table. “They’d all been through before. Now. They may not have been stealing from you, but they’ve caused trouble - enough that one of ‘em I told not to come back. The one I nicked in the throat.”

Hissera let out a deep breath after a long moment, then narrowed her eyes at Cadash, jabbing a finger towards her. “You got _lucky_.”

“Luck’s a skill, my friend.” 

Hissera rolled her eyes and pushed passed Dis to help with the injured rogue.

A dry-heaving gag turned everyone’s attention to Alex and Lucius.

“Don’t- hurt yourself trying, Alex. It’s fine. I’ll just-”

“It is not _fine!_ And I am not the one who’s _hurt._ ” Alex felt ready to pass out. Lucius had gotten himself injured again, and it was seeping a little too quickly for his liking. “Let me _fuss_ , damn you, it’s my job. Yours is to sit there and stop _bleeding_ , for Andraste’s sake.”

“As you say, your Lordship.” Lucius let his head thump back against the wall, and shut his eyes. Too tired to give reproach for how the mage chose to use Andraste’s name.

“Are you really a Lord?” Dis asked, nodding to the Militiaman as he left to deal with the hysterical Innkeeper.

“No.”

Dis snorted a laugh, the two of them answering at once, “You two didn’t want to think about that maybe?” Before they could start in on whatever excuses or misdirections they wanted to lay down, Dis came over and reached down for the Templar. “Alright. He’s used up. Up you get. C’mon. We’ve got a long night of clean up ahead of us. But _you’re_ headed right back to bed, invalid.”

* * *

It took a while to get the three worst off into Hissera’s room and bedded down for the night. Took even longer to sort out the Templars and the Innkeeper. In the end, it was just Dis, Ronan, and Hissera, sitting in the hallway. Somehow both too tired and too wound up to sleep, or in Ronan’s case - too lazy to get up.

“So what’s the plan now?”

“You say that like I have some say-so in where you go.”

Dis chuckled, “ _He’s_ going with you, innit he?”

“ _He’s_ got a job to do.”

_“_ _He’s_ _sitting right here,”_ The Archer grumbled. Half-asleep but fighting it.

“No one said you weren’t, highwayman.” Dis got shot the fingers for her jab from him, and a disapproving look from Hissera. “What? You want me to think you got shot by a _farmer_?”

“That’s-” Hissera sighed, thunking her horns against the wall. God _damnit_ she was grinding them off. “Leave him be, Dis. He’s fine. And like I said - he’s a merc now. He's got a job.” She clicked her tongue, “And you have one too. So don’t come sniffing around for a back-up, for when the Carta realize what a little backstabber you are.”

The dwarf snorted, “Honey, that’s what they _pay_ me for. But no. I don’t want a back-up job. I want a cover.”

There was a long pause, and then, “For the Conclave?”

“For the Conclave,” Dis was quick to confirm. “Orders are to see which way the wind is blowing. Get ahead of the curve, so to speak.”

“Should’ve known.” Hissera had worked with Dis before. And she wasn’t... _bad_...well, wasn’t bad for a Carta thug. But Hissera didn’t really want to do her any favors. She’d just done a really big one. On way more faith than she should’ve lent the situation. You had to make hard decisions in life, that was true, but Dis was more cutthroat than most. Literally.

“I can hear you thinking about it.”

“And what makes you think I’m leaning towards ‘yes’, little spy?”

“The fact you haven’t said ‘No’.”

Hissera hated to be called out like that. Shokrakar was constantly telling her how much of a pushover she was. But goddamn. She wasn’t a _dwarf_. She wasn’t _made of stone_. There were tons of people, regular people, who got driven to a bad end through no fault of their own. Like Ronan. Maybe like Cormac, but the jury was still out on that one.

Dis though. Most would write her off in a heartbeat, and maybe Hissera should too, but. Maybe Dis hadn’t always wanted to be a backstabbing little murder goblin. Casteless dwarves didn’t really have a lot of options on the surface. You either smith something, or you’re in lyrium. And if you’re in lyrium, you're Carta. So. Coming full circle…

“You owe me.” Hissera could almost _hear_ the grin of triumph in Dis’ voice when she agreed. It almost made her regret her decision. Almost.

“Look.” Dis reached out and tapped Hissera on the arm, pointing across the hall to Ronan. He was fast asleep sitting up.

Hissera snorted.

“When are you headed out? Tomorrow?”

“ _Tomorrow?_ Most of this lot is half dead. Nah, I’m thinking three days’ time at best.”

“You’re not taking the little lordling and his pet Templar with you, are you?”

Hissera grunted in annoyance, “Do you want to blend in better, or no? The more different the company I keep, the less suspicious it looks. Besides. The Templar’s too weak to fight his way out of a paper bag. And that kid is too innocent and trusting to leave practically on his own.”

“Coming from you? That’s _really_ saying something, Hissera.”

“Shove it up your ass, dwarf.”

Dis laughed, but Ronan barely stirred. It took real effort to heave herself off the floor, and none of her joints thanked her for it. “C’mon. We ought to cram in and catch a few hours too. Can’t have you missing your beauty rest, Qunari. Maybe those horns of yours will grow another inch or two.”

“Shove it-”

“Up my ass, I know, I know. C’mon.”


	7. A Place of Safety or Refuge

**Chapter Six**

The little caravan of people trundled along the road to Haven, keeping pace with the two-horse wagon in the lead. Ronan and Dis were up in the seat; she was half-sprawled and half-asleep, one foot propped on the rein hitch, the other on the box rod, pipe just smoking away like a chimney. Ronan was more-or-less sitting proper, reins in hand, watching the road ahead.

“You didn’t tell me that horse you lent me was a cart horse.”

“What does _that_ matter?” Dis didn’t peek up from beneath the brim of an ostentatious hat she’d rummaged up from somewhere. “A horse is a horse.”

He was lucky to have caught up to Alex and the Templar at all, is what. But Ronan only sighed in response and briefly considered pushing Dis off the seat. It was a long fall for a Dwarf, though. Looking over his shoulder, he checked on their two passengers instead.

Both Lucius and Cormac were meant to be resting in the wagon with Dis’ merchandise, but the Templar had patently refused to spend another second treated as an _invalid_ and insisted he was well enough to ride. As it was, then, Cormac alone was laid out in the space between the crates, a tarp strung across them making for a fine bit of shade. He winked up at Ronan when they caught eyes with each other. _Ass_.

Hissera was sitting on the back, heels hooked on the back body bar so her ridiculously long legs didn’t drag behind the wagon. Ronan wasn’t sure they’d reach, given the height of the wheels, but it was probably a near miss. She was an odd one, that Qunari. Sitting with her back to the man that had stabbed her in it, having offered him a job. There were times he still couldn’t wrap his mind around it. But she killed those Templars easy as she forgave the two of them, and it was just...bizarre.

“I can hear you thinking.”

“Wazzat?”

“You’re _thinking_ too loudly, Ronan. I’m _trying_ to take a nap.” Dis adjusted herself to sit up straight, and she fixed the tilt of her hat. She was annoyed, as she always was, that her feet wouldn’t even reach the _footboard_ on the wagon. The _board_ on which your _feet_ were supposed to rest. _Stonecursed giant things made for giant people._

“Pardon me, your Ladyship.” Came the sarcastic retort, followed cautiously by, “Is that a thing Dwarves can sense?”

Dis made a noise of disgust, “No.” She fiddled with her pipe as Lucius pulled his horse up alongside.

“I’m going to scout the road ahead a-pace. This region gets hilly and I’d rather know sooner than later if there will be any issues.” Having been waived on, the Templar clicks his tongue at his horse and trots ahead.

“Why is your Templar reporting to me, Mage-let?”

“He told me too.” Hissera calls from the back.

“Thoughtful like that,” Alex chimes in, having trotted his horse up to where Lucius had just been. “Or maybe...he just misses having someone to report to. You can be his new Lieutenant and Hissera can be his new Commander. Fair warning-” He smiles, “-he’s a stickler for reports and routine. You’ll be up to your neck in paperwork in no time.”

“What would that make me, then?” Ronan wondered aloud.

“Excuse me? Why aren’t _I_ the Commander?”

“Hmm,” Alex first gives Ronan an assessing look. “Squire.” He had to laugh at the dirty look he got, but gave a noise of surprise when his horse took a sidestep off the road. He quickly put himself and the beast to rights, and amended, “Fellow Templar, Ronan. And...not sure. Hissera just seems more the _command_ type. Like you’d _want_ to take orders from her.”

“Do _you_ want to take orders from her?” Dis asked slyly, a slow grin creeping its way across her face.

Hissera muttered something from the back that Alex didn’t quite catch; it made Dis chuckle in an uncharitable way, though, and so he thought it was probably about him. She was still looking at him a little oddly, and he decided he didn’t much care for it.

“I take it back,” Alex sat up straight as he could and poshed up his accent, _“You_ can be the squire, and _Ronan_ can be the Leftenant.” With a little nod, he slowed his horse sharply. Dis followed his progress to a point, but faced forward when he fell too far behind.

When Dis looked askance of Ronan, the man only chuckled, and held up the reins, “If I’m the ‘leftenant’, shouldn’t you be the one driving, _squire?”_

Dis scoffed, “Not on your life, _Highwayman_.”

* * *

Haven was a logistical nightmare, and Valdis Cadash was well glad it wasn’t anything like her problem. Holy shit. Hissera was looking a little green - well - green _er_ than normal. The thought of reining in this rabble was probably an uncomfortable one. She wouldn’t know. She only had to find someone to direct her where she was supposed to go with all this lovely, lovely lyrium. Preferably somewhere out of this chaos and next to...oh, well, she wasn’t picky, but - maybe the Left Hand of the Divine? Dis kept an eye out for someone in charge.

Alex’s head seemed to be on a swivel, trying to see and hear and _experience_ everything - so many people, all in one place. Like an excited puppy. Lucius’ head was on a swivel too - but for decidedly less trusting reasons. As it was, it suited Cormac just fine to lounge in the cart and let the Templar play look-out. Well, him and Ronan. And surely the dwarf, too. He was just settling in to see if napping with all this noise was possible when a giant hand wrapped around his ankle, and pulled.

“HEY!”

“I’m not paying you sleep on the job, Kidney-shot.”

“Technically, you haven’t _paid_ me yet,” Cormac shot back, sitting up and surveying what he could from the back of the cart.

“Yeah.” Hissera nodded to Ronan, “I’m aware. But soon as we get Dis where she needs to go, you boys and I are reporting in to the boss.”

“Ooh, the head honcho, the _head bull_ , huh?”

Hissera raised an unimpressed eyebrow, “How’s about I collapse your lungs again - just for old times’ sake?”

Cormac chuckled low and slid off the back of the cart, “Now, now, Qunari - don’t get your _horns_ in a twist. I’m just teasing. You may have almost killed me - but you didn’t let me die either. I won’t forget.”

“You’ll forgive me if that’s not the most reassuring thing you’ve said.” Hissera walked with Cormac up to the front of the wagon, leaning her elbow next to Dis’ hip. “Hey. What’s the hold up?”

Dis made a noise of disgust, “Bureaucracy.”

Three heads nodded in silent agreement. Mercenaries. Bandits. Pilgrims. Whatever you wanted to call yourself, the common man was no stranger to the hold ups of higher ups. Forever wanting to code and regulate and tax and _manage_ things. A necessary evil, but an evil nonetheless, as far as they were concerned.

The line they were in moved at a glacial pace, and Dis got her share of work, clutching and disarming the brake on the wagon. At some point Alex and Lucius had dismounted and tied their horses to the back of the cart, milling about with the others, making observations of all they could see around them. It was a who’s who of anyone and everyone you could think to invite. From every arm, reach, and backwater of Ferelden, Orlais, and obviously with Alex and Lucius - the Free Marches. They all kept an eye out for the mysterious Magister, too, but without success.

“Hell-lo,” Dis’ scratchy voice smoothed into a purr and she sat up a little straighter, trying to see a little farther.

“What?” Hissera tilted her head up, and could _almost_ see over the horses to where the little spy was looking, “Is it something important, or-”

“Why don’t you come over here and tell momma your name, handsome?”

Hissera groaned, “Or is it some _man_ you’re ogling.”

“You say that like men aren’t worthy of being ogled. Weren’t you dating-”

_“Please_ don’t remind me.”

Dis chuckled and went back to ‘ogling’ the man that seemed to be in charge - or was at least barking out the most orders. She kept up a running commentary on his actions, for lack of something better to do. At Alex’s request, she tried to describe him.

“I assume he’s of average height for a human.”

“Seems like it.” Ronan agreed, being the only other person who could see him.

“Hard to tell under the armor, but probably well fit.”

“Holds himself like a Templar.”

“I was just going to say that.” Dis huffed, but continued, “He’s got armor a bit like yours, Lucius - same color anyway. But it has something stamped on the front. It’s hard to tell at this distance. Might be the sun?”

“Big, furred cloak around his shoulders.”

“Blonde hair.”

“I’d say it’s more golden wheat than honey blonde.”

Dis stopped and almost fully turned to face Ronan. “Golden _wheat? Honey_ blonde? When we get close, are you going to tell me his eyes are like fathomless oceans? Or verdant fields?”

“If you can’t be arsed to give a proper description, Dwarf, I’ll do it for ya.”

They stared at each other a full minute, before Dis huffed and looked away. She was going to stab this Archer at some point, probably, but he was amusing in the meantime. He caught her sizing him up and gave a disturbed look before facing forward again. Dis huffed a laugh under her breath before something new caught her attention.

“Oh hello, Honey.”

Hissera groaned and walked forward the four paces they got to move up, “Maker’s ass, go on, describe this new boy. We haven’t got anything better to do besides count the number of people behind us and listen to you wax less-than-poetic about who you’ll try to climb.”

“Oh-ho-ho, Miss High-And-Mighty, maybe I _won’t_.” She was absolutely going to, but still, “And just so you _know_ , it’s a pretty _girl_ this time. Antivan, I think - a noble, maybe.”

Hissera stood up a little straighter, but didn’t say anything. She didn’t want to give the Dwarf the satisfaction of her interest.

“Well go on,” Cormac prodded, “Some of us haven’t pissed you off today. How d’you know she’s pretty?”

“Well she’s definitely rich.”

“Which is the same thing to Dis,” Hissera explained to the men near her. She smiled as Alex stifled a laugh and Lucius pointedly looked off across the valley.

“Oh shut up.”

_“Same thing to me, too,”_ Cormac muttered.

Dis chuckled, “Alright, since _Cormac’s_ being nice, I’ll describe her to him. The rest of you can shut your ears.” The Dwarf gave the best description she could of the woman - well dressed, shorter than the Templar. Tanned skin and darker hair, artfully piled on her head. She was holding a writing board and wielding a quill like a weapon. They only moved up a couple of more spaces, even with Ronan cutting in to add the _shade_ of gold silk her shirt and sash were made of, or the _style_ of her high-cut boots.

“You know, Ronan. You know an awful lot about women’s fashion.” Dis rather thought the ‘for a man’ went unsaid. It was _meant_ to be a jab, but the irksome Archer just laughed goodnaturedly.

“I used to be tailor.”

“Before you were a Highwayman? SS-OW! _HISSERA!”_ Dis rubbed at her thigh where the Qunari had pinched her.

“Play nice, little spy.”

“Before I was anything else.” Ronan continued, “I was a tailor. In Denerim. And the row of shops mine was in got burned down. Couldn’t afford to rebuild.”

They stood or inched forward in silence for a while after that. The truth of that little confession was a little too real for the moment. It was easy to forget that in the wide world out there people were dying and looting and rioting and trying to live. It was easy to forget Thedas was a bit on fire when the worst you had to contend with at the moment was whether or not your ass would fall asleep or your feet would fall off waiting for the finely-armored, fuzzy-shouldered Templar to bark:

“NEXT. C’mon!”

There were four guards that were now visible, along with the furry-shouldered Templar and the well-dressed noblewoman. Valdis hopped down to speak to the noble directly. Hissera and Lucius came ‘round the cart to talk to the Templar. Alex scrambled after to wait behind Lucius’ shoulder.

Nodding at the man, she gestured to the Dwarf, “We traveled together, but won’t be going to the same place. Two of these men are mine - we’re with the Valo-Kas. Where are they set up?”

The Templar gave her and the wagon behind her an assessing stare, then spoke, “The Valo-Kas are an _all_ Qunari Mercen’ry group.”

Hissera raised her eyebrows. She really hadn’t thought she’d be defending herself today, but here she was, “Yeah. And the boss knows you know that, so she wanted some human faces out in the crowds. Don’t worry. Their pay’s coming out of what we were already promised.”

Still skeptical, the Templar asked, “What’s your name?” He walked over to the noble and requested the roster for the Mercenary groups. With an annoyed huff, she pulled it out and handed it over, never stopping her talk with the Dwarf.

“Hissera Adaar.”

“Oh.” The Templar hadn’t even looked at the list yet, but he did glance down a moment, before answering her question,. “Mercen’ry Group Valo-Kas is assigned tent space in Row G, in the Northeast quadrant of the grounds. You’ll follow this path up, and when it di-verges, you’ll take the path to the right.” The Templar gestured accordingly, “That’s where you’ll find Mercen’ry groups and Templars. Someone down there should be able to direct you further.”

“Thanks,” Hissera nodded, letting the whole thing go. She moved aside to let Lucius have his turn, and luckily Dis seemed to be squaring things nicely with the (admittedly, very pretty) noble. She stepped up to tell Ronan the plan after dropping Dis off, when she heard the exasperated tone of the furred Templar behind her.

“As I said - Templars to right when the path forks, you’ll have to find space where you can.” There was a pause, and then, “Mages kip to the left.”

“Oh but-”

Lucius held up a hand to stifle whatever protest Alex was about to make, “We’re the delegation from the Ostwick Circle, Knight Commander.”

The Commander’s brow furrowed, “Not exactly a Knight Commander anymore.”

“Still. Glad to see you survived Kirkwall, sir.”

“Yes. Not everyone was so lucky.” It was said with the dull air of a man who’d said the same thing probably a dozen times already, then, “The- the Ostwick Circle, did you say, Templar...?”

“Lucius Cane, sir. And, yes. Enchanter Trevelyan and I are the Ostiwick delegation - we came _together_ , sir.”

“T-together? But you’re...hold a moment. Lady Montilyet?”

Having finished her talks with the Dwarf, the Lady was quickly caught up on the situation, but looked equally as baffled as the Commander. “I’m sorry - did you say they are the _delegation_ from Ostwick?” When the Commander nodded, she turned to Alex and Lucius, “The two of you?”

The woman’s accent was smooth as butter. _Definitely Antivan_. Hissera startled as she caught eyes with Dis, who was unhelpfully giving her knowing looks. The Qunari was highly tempted to just pick her up and throw her back down into the valley. No one would miss her, surely. Hissera crossed her arms and wondered what the trouble was now.

“Yes, that’s right, Lady Montilyet. Grand Enchanter Renton and Knight Commander Summerfield sent us as representatives of the Ostwick Circle. I have letters of introduction from the two of them.” On the Lady’s nod, Lucius fished them out of his inner cloak pocket and handed them over.

“You have letters of _introduction?”_

Lucius smiled apologetically, “Grand Enchanter thought you’d lose them.”

“I-” Alex had taken a deep breath in to argue the point. But realized it wasn’t really a bad one. How many notes had he misplaced over the years? He blew the breath out with a defeated sigh, “Oh alright. That’s fair.”

None of the men spoke as the Lady Montilyet read over the letters, one after the other. She looked confused and pleased and annoyed and pleased again by turns. When done, she neatly folded the letters - somehow - one-handed and passed them back to the Templar.

“Well,” She smiled brightly, “I appreciate your giving me the _first_ bit of good news of the day, Templar Cane. To have a Circle _remain_ together had seemed almost impossible at this point. Have you had contact since you left?”

“No, M’am,” Lucius shakes his head, “I’ve sent word back twice, but the Grand Enchanter said not to expect anything until after we’d made it to the Conclave, as that’s where he’d address any post to us. How is…” Lucius trailed off, looking around at the general chaos around him. He was reluctant to ask ‘how good are you at actually getting mail’, because it seemed rude. But.

Luckily, the Commander took pity on the man and seemed to know what he was asking, “The mail’s not smooth, but it’s working.”

“Mmm.” Lady Montilyet made a noise of agreement that was somewhat annoyed. For a woman as organized as she was, this was something that bothered her. Clearly. “Well, I have to say, we didn’t count on this happening. But arrangements _can_ be made.” She frowned down at her board and tried to make it give her an immediate answer.

“You mean Lucius and I can’t stay together?” Alex nearly cringed at how whiney that sounded.

“You _want_ to stay together?” The Templar said the same time the Lady responded-

“Of course you can- _Cullen._ ” A sharp look from Lady Montilyet had the Commander raising his hands in surrender, “Of _course_ you can stay together, we’ll just have to arrange something. Mr…?”

“Alex.”

“The _whole_ thing, Alex.” Lucius chided. “Give the Lady your _whole_ name.”

“Oh!” Alex gave a nervous chuckle, “Sorry. Hello! Hi. My name is Alexander Trevelyan, Enchanter of the Ostwick Circle, and this is Lucius Cane, Templar...also...of the Ostwick Circle, obviously.” Alex smiled broadly and studiously ignored the sigh from Lucius. It was almost second nature at this point.

Lady Montilyet only smiled sweetly, “Pleased to meet you. Tell me, Enchanter Trevelyan - you wouldn’t happen to be a distant relation of Lady Bayart perhaps?”

“Oh! Cousin Oshy! Yes. She’s my favorite of the cousins on father’s side.” Alex gushed, “I haven’t seen her in forever, but she wrote me a lovely letter just last spring, telling me all about the new fountain she’d had commissioned for her rose garden out in that little villa of hers in Hercinia.”

Josephine blinked in response.

Alex’s eyes suddenly got very wide, “Oh dear. Maybe...I’m terribly sorry, I just made an assumption. With your accent and your last name I thought that maybe you were of the Montilyets out of Wycome. Cousin Oshy’s husband is from Wycome, and I thought you...but perhaps you’re of the Montilyets out of Antiva City?”

“Why yes,” Looking rather like she’d been slapped in the face with a trout after that rush and tumble of words, the Lady nevertheless quickly regained her composure, “Forgive me...my Lord, I am in fact Josephine Montilyet, of Antiva City.”

“Oh, that’s-” Alex can _feel_ the blush creeping up his neck, and he can’t stop smiling, like an absolute lunatic, “Good. But, you don’t have to- that’s- no one calls me _lord_ anything. Not since living in the Circle. Alex is fine….Lady Montilyet.”

Adaar stepped up, when it seemed like this whole thing was about to drag on for fifteen more years, “Sorry to interrupt, Lords and Ladies, but these two can stay with the Valo-Kas until you get it sorted, if that’s easier for you.”

“Thank _the_ Maker,” Came the Commander’s relieved sigh. He looked half ready to kiss the Qunari for stepping in, but quickly regained his composure.

“Yeah, it’s uh...no big deal.” Hissera was torn between commiserating with the man and telling him to sod off. She didn’t do either, ready to be moving on already. “They traveled with us this far. We’ll squeeze them in somewhere.”

“I’ll be sure to dispatch a runner to you just as _soon_ as I can get something else arranged for the two of you.” Lady Montilyet sounded truly aggrieved not to have a ready solution to the problem, and looked back and forth from the Enchanter to the Mercenary.

“It’s no trouble.” Hissera was quick to reassure her. When it looked like Alex was going to linger and _moon_ and generally be a nuisance, she grabbed him by the scruff to haul him off, “We’ll get on and let you get to work now.”

Alex waved awkwardly to the Lady and couldn’t manage to get a ‘good bye’ articulated before he was unceremoniously plopped onto the back of the wagon.

Lucius bowed, “Knight Commander Rutherford. Lady Montilyet.”

Before Cullen could correct the Templar, he and his odd traveling companions had gotten a move on. He rubbed at the back of his neck and attempted to _will_ the headache and irritation of this neverending day away. Thankfully, Cullen’s men took back over the directing of temple-goers. He and Josephine were only there for trouble cases. ‘Templars to the right, Mages to the left’ wasn’t exactly something you needed either of them for.

“Can you believe it?” Josephine had half an eye on the procession and the other on her roster. She tore a slip of paper and summoned a runner - passing notes and missives and planning and coordinating with an efficiency Cullen would have loved to have in all his Lieutenants.

“That a mage and a Templar were traveling together? Maybe. That they were sent from an _intact_ circle? No. I don’t believe I can.”

“Well, there is _that_ too.” When the Commander looked at her, confused, Josephine asked, “Did you know who that was, Commander?”

“The Qunari was the second in command of the Valo-Kas.”

“Not the _Qunari_.” When Cullen didn’t have a second guess, Josephine gave a sigh of disgust and hissed, “The _mage_. The Enchanter.”

“A relation of some…Free Marcher lord?”

Josephine sighed, “The Enchanter’s ‘Cousin Oshy’ is Lady Osher Lotharn Trevelyan Bayart - a trading partner to my family in Antiva, and apparently a terror with a blade. But more than that, if she _is_ a cousin to him, and his name _is_ Alexander - that would make him the only son of _Bann_ Trevelyan.” She looked in the direction the wagon had gone and wondered if there was a way to kick someone out of the Chapel proper without causing offence. Sons of Banns didn’t sleep in tents if there were beds. “ _Think_ of it, Cullen - a peer from an intact circle. A mage and a Templar - traveling together - the Divine will want to know.”

Cullen hummed noncommittally. He wasn’t about to presume to know what the Divine would or wouldn’t want. That seemed more a decision for Leliana to make, but it also seemed as though Josephine didn’t really expect any sort of answer from him. All the better. He truly hoped this was a bit of good news in the middle of this ever-evolving disaster, but he had a feeling it was just another barrel of whiskey ready to go up in flames. The way things were going, he wouldn’t be surprised the whole thing blew up in their faces.


	8. How Do You Solve a Problem Like...?

**Chapter Seven**

“Commander!”

Cullen Rutherford sighed, silently as he could, ready to face whatever _new_ issue had brought itself to his metaphorical doorstep. The Conclave was realistically more in the meet-and-greet stages at the moment, as no real negotiations had even started, but Cullen was already tired of it. The Temple, Haven, and the surrounding valley were a hotbed of unrest and he had never been more grateful for mercenaries (including the one he almost turned away) to bolster the number of men he had at his disposal to deal with it. Except. Whatever this _new_ problem was, was going to delay him from his meeting with-

“Seeker!”

“You seem surprised, Commander, and unless I am mistaken - pleasantly so.” Cassandra noted with amusement, coming to a stop just before reaching the Commander and whatever aide had run up to give him missive. She looked at the man, and when he did nothing, she narrowed her eyes.

“Leave your message with the Commander - he is wanted in a meeting that will last into the night. All else can wait until morning.” Seeker Pentaghast’s clipped tone left no room for arguing. The messenger sketched a quick bow and took off.

“I am - glad to see you, Seeker. But will this really take all night?” Cullen asked, gesturing for the Seeker to walk ahead of him.

“No, but you need sleep.”

Cullen sighed, “While I appreciate the gesture-”

“Perhaps you are under the mistaken impression that it was a suggestion.” Cassandra stopped, along with the Commander, in the doorway to the last unused room in the Chantry. “We are only mortal, Cullen, and we need our sleep. _You_ need sleep.” Not waiting for his reply, she opened the door and entered.

Leliana had evidently procured a map from somewhere, and a table large enough to hold it. Both impressive feats in the madhouse that was this Conclave. There were still half a dozen people flitting about in the room when Seeker Pentaghast and Commander Rutherford arrived, moving furniture out and going in and out a side door, delivering things to Lady Montilyet. 

Cullen came to stand next to Leliana, where the traffic in the room seemed lightest. He didn’t know how all these messengers and servants weaved around each other in their various tasks without causing a crash up. Like bees, they were - organized and unceasing.

“Let me guess: she told you to go to bed after this?” Leliana had leaned in to speak to the Commander. She held out her hand for a note from a man dressed in all tans and brown leather, without looking. She tucked it away for later and made signal for him to leave.

“Yes,” Cullen admitted with a sigh.

“Cassandra’s concern is...aggressive. I’ve learned that the bullying is how she shows her regard. Don’t worry, she told me the same thing.”

Cullen chuckled at the woman’s conspiratorial wink and tried to summon up the last of his patience for this meeting to get underway. _It is vital_ , he told himself as he watched someone hold up scraps of fabric for some reason for the Lady Montilyet to inspect. He was about to turn the words into a repeating mantra when four more servants spilled into the room, and Cassandra Pentaghast snapped first.

“Out! Everyone out!”

All movement in the room came sharply to a halt. She didn’t have to raise her voice to get anyone’s attention - it was forever at a volume to turn heads. The clip of her t’s alone was enough to send one elf scurrying for the door.

“If it cannot wait until morning, give it to Lady Montilyet, and then get out. The rest of you - GET. OUT. NOW.”

“Lady Cassandra!” Lady Montilyet gasped, “Is that really necessary?” She gathered notes from runners as everyone found the quickest way to exit the room.

“My title is _Seeker_ , Lady Montilyet, and yes. It is. Necessary.” She turned her steely gaze on the one man loitering, but he couldn’t keep her eye and turned for the door. “It has been a very long day. And the days are only going to get longer.” Cassandra explained as she shut and barred the door after the last extraneous person left. She huffed a breath and turned to apologize, but Josephine held up a hand.

“I understand. Making sure the Divine’s arrival is safe in the midst of all this chaos must be...exhausting. Let us begin so that we may be done all the sooner, yes?”

“Yes,” Cassandra allowed, “Though it was wrong of me to snap. I apologize.”

Josephine nodded her head in acknowledgement, but was already rifling through three different ledgers she had spread out on top of the map of Thedas. This had been a very trying experience for all of them, and there wasn’t really an end in sight. They’d all agreed at the very beginning to try their best not to snip with each other. The Divine wanted to announce the Inquisition at the Conclave, and they were all to be a part of it. It was imperative that they learn to work together sooner, rather than later.

“We have nearly every circle accounted for at this point, in some form or another,” Josephine pointed to the ledger she had just laid down on the table, her finger trailing down the list. She beckoned the other three closer as she also laid out the nearly to-the-minute agenda for the Divine. “Each of them has asked for a private audience with Divine Justinia.”

“Which we cannot allow.” Leliana was quick to respond, crossing her arms.

“Yes. I understand the logistics of arranging so many private meetings - _and the security risks-_ ” Josephine volunteered before either the Commander or the Seeker OR the Nightingale could chime in, “But there are two in particular I think we should make exceptions for, which is why I need the three of you to tell me if it is possible. No. I need the three of you to _make_ it possible.”

“This is about those two from Ostwick, isn’t it?”

“That’s _one_ of the parties, yes.”

“What two?” Leliana looked from Cullen to Josephine, “There were letters from the Circle in Ostwick addressed to a Templar and a Mage. You’re not saying…?”

“Oh they did,” Cullen said, voice a little higher than he intended. He cleared his throat, “They came in today, in fact - fine as you please, wanted to know where the ‘Ostwick delegation’ was meant to set up.”

“You are kidding.”

“No, Seeker, I am not. They came in with the second in command of the Valo-Kas and some...trader, I think? A dwarf woman.” Cullen turned to Josephine for clarification.

“Lyrium merchant.”

“Lyrium merch- _what?”_

“Lyrium merchant,” Josephine reiterated, “The dwarf I was talking to was a lyrium merchant. Here to...I don’t know, sell lyrium.” She waved her hand dismissively, “I set her up with the other merchants down on the commerce row.”

“Uh-huh.” Cullen shared a pointed look with Leliana. She gave a short nod in return. Lyrium sellers were the one type of merchant nearly _guaranteed_ to cause trouble. Or _be_ troublesome. The last thing they needed was some blood feud cropping up between lyrium merchants. He was glad the Nightingale was on it.

_“Anyway,”_ Josephine redirected, “They _are_ the delegation from Ostwick. Templar Cane and Lord Enchanter Alexander Trevelyn, of the Ostwick Trevelyns. They have journeyed a long way to present themselves at the Conclave, and they are the first to arrive _united._ I think it would be good for the others to see this.”

“You want to make an example of them.”

“Well...when you say it like that, Commander, it seems…”

“Manipulative?” Cassandra volunteered.

Josephine huffed.

“I get what you’re saying, Josie,” Leliana placated, “They would be a good example to the others of what working together would look like...on a smaller scale. And yes.” Reluctantly, she had to admit the diplomat had a point, “I do believe Most Holy would want to speak with them.”

Cassandra could only groan a long huff of annoyance. They were right. Of course they were right. The whole point of this was to get both sides back together in some form or fashion. At this point the Divine, and by extension the Chantry, didn’t care how that happened, so long as it happened. The less charitable part of her would amend that there were a goodly number of Grand Clerics who would prefer to term it as ‘getting the mages back in line’...or under heel. The problem was she hated people wanting to talk to the Divine. It meant hypervigilance. 

“Does that mean yes?” Josephine asked brightly, pen poised over yet another schedule.

Cassandra grunted.

“That means ‘yes’, Lady Montilyet,” Cullen volunteered, “Our good Seeker is just so overcome with good will she finds it hard to articulate her approval.”

“Don’t. Push it.”

Cullen held up his hands in surrender; he felt the tug of that scar across his lip as he smiled a little too broadly. He really was growing to like the Seeker. She often did what Cullen was thinking of doing; said what he was thinking of saying. She was decidedly a woman of action. And he was grateful for it - in the midst of Josephine’s diplomacy and Leliana’s scheming, it was good to have someone else appreciate the straight-forward.

“Who’s the other, Josie?” Leliana’s eyes scanned down the roster, trying to pick something unique from the bunch. Mostly it was circle names and numbers and a lot of annotations saying ‘Templars only’ or ‘Mages and hired mercenaries’.

“This one,” The ambassador took pity on her friend and skipped to the relevant section, “This is-”

“Is this a _Magister?”_

The question brought Cassandra and Cullen up close and personal, the three of them crowding in to see the descriptive text with their own eyes. Cullen recoiled, Cassandra leaned in and squinted, Leliana’s face became an expressionless mask.

“The _Magistratrix_ says that she is sympathetic to the plight of the ‘Mages in the South’ and wants to lend her expertise to the matter at hand.”

“I’m sure she does!” Cullen scoffed, “How Best to Leash Templars.”

“You're rather upset for a man who insists he is _not_ a Templar every other minute.” Leliana did not turn as the man paced away. She was too busy reading what had been written _under_ the Magister’s name as her traveling party.

“That doesn’t mean I- you know well how-auh!” Cullen threw up his hands.

“Elegant.”

Cullen overcame the urge to throw up fingers at the insufferable little redhead, but not by a margin he was proud of. He paced the length of the room, and then did it again, trying to find a calm place to speak from.

“Josie - what does this mean?” Leliana pointed to some stray marks around the listing, “These are not your normal shorthand.”

“Ah...yes.” Here Josephine had to look a little embarrassed, “Well…that is something I wanted to talk to you about. You see, these are the people she told me that she was traveling with.”

“Yes, I see that. Coachman, footman, valet, groom - nevermind a coachman _is_ usually a carriage’s groom - bodyguard, and here’s where I’m getting caught up: personal servant. You’ve written ‘Personal Servant’ and then put a little star beside it, Josie. You also put one next to the Bodyguard. Or under it, really.”

“Mm. Yes.”

_“Josie.”_

“Well! It’s just...ah...I cannot be sure, but...the way they were _dressed_. The way they _acted_...they didn’t seem...eh.

Leliana put her hands on her hips, “Whatever it is you’re thinking, whatever it is you’re dismissing: don’t. Tell us. Tell _me.”_

Josephine sighed, “The bodyguard was a large man - he looked...foreign. I cannot place his heritage, but he did not look Tevene, nor did he look Ferelden, and his accent was odd. For what little he spoke. The personal servant...he...was an elf.”

“A slave,” Came Cassandra’s flat voice from across the room - where she’d been trying to stall the Commander’s relentless pacing. “You think she brought a slave to the South. To the _Conclave.”_

“This is a _Magister_ we’re talking about,” Leliana pointed out, “They’re probably all slaves.”

“That’s-!” Josie looked back down at her ledger, and didn’t look back up. She willed it to produce more information than she’d written, “That can’t be true.”

The silence dragged on, each of them lost in their own thoughts, until Leliana volunteered.

“I will find out.”

“How?” Cullen crossed his arms, “You think they’ll tell you if you ask? In my...limited experience, slaves _don’t_ volunteer information that would get their masters in trouble. As it tends to get _them_ in trouble. Even if they _hate_ the master.”

“The mages in Kirkwall were not _slaves_ , Cullen, despite what the propaganda would have you believe.”

“I wasn’t talking about them, but thank-you Seeker Pentaghast, now I have _that_ to think about, too.” Cullen fiddled with the straps of his armor and tried to ignore the guilty look on the Seeker’s face. “There were, in Kirkwall’s Circle, some former slaves. And you could never be sure about a nobleman’s messenger or personal servant in Kirkwall, trust me.”

The Commander couldn’t keep the look of distaste off his face, “I interacted with enough of them to get a good idea of what they were like. Skittish, around anyone of authority. Always willing to help you, but they would _never_ betray the confidence of anyone they thought on their level. Which-” He sighed, “Coming back ‘round to what you said, _should_ have said something about how we treated the Mages if _ex-slaves_ thought them their peers.”

_“You_ did not treat them such, Cullen.” Cassandra stepped close, and when she was sure the Commander would not flinch away, put her hand over his on the pommel of his sword. She looked him in the eye, long as he’d keep her gaze. “The sins of others are not yours to bear. You cannot police what you cannot see.”

Cullen only nodded in response and gently stepped away.

“I will find a way to go about it,” Leliana provided, “I will not just go up and ask.”

“Oh.” Josephine was really hoping they could just go ask the Magister to clear it all up, but...Leliana had a point. Cullen had a point. They weren’t likely to tell the truth just because she asked.

“Did the Magister say what this personal servant did, Josie?”

“No - or - yes. She...said he was an attendant. That he...dressed her, saw to her hair, poured her wine and...she also said that he was an excellent dancer?”

“Why ask me?”

“Well, does...any of that sound specifically like a slave to you?”

“No, Josie,” Leliana quickly caught on to the problem, “There’s no way you could have known for certain what the ‘servant’ was. No real way for you to know now. Not yet.” She smiled, “Leave it to me. I’ll sort it out.”

Josephine nodded gratefully. She took a steadying breath as she looked down at her ledgers and notes and schedules.

“I would still like for there to be time for her to meet Divine Justinia.”

“A slaver!?” Cassandra was nearly apoplectic. She had thought Leliana saying she would look into it would be the end of it. Not the start of this madness again.

“Whether or not either of them is a _slave,”_ Josephine snapped, her r’s rolling a little harder in her irritation, “She may have some insight to provide regarding how the Circles of Tevinter do not fall to demons without Chantry oversight. Without Templars.”

“They _have_ Templars,” Cassandra grumbled, unwilling to even concede there might be a point in that.

“Yes, of course.” Cullen now felt calm enough to add, “One can’t be expected to pour one’s own wine or peel one’s own grapes.”

Cassandra felt herself going red at the ears. _Oh, if only this man knew._ If only he _knew_ what the Seeker had read about Templars in the North. About the Black Chantry and the Black Divine and _his_ Black Templars. It would make the Commander’s hair curl...even more.

“Alright,” Leliana intervened, before any of these hot-headed personalities could goad each other into a full blown fight. “Let me ascertain the situation with the Magister and her...retinue. If it turns out they are servants, fine. She may have her personal servant or her body guard in attendance at a meeting.” Holding up a hand to forestall Cassandra’s objection, she barreled on, “If it turns out they are slaves...she will have to meet Most Holy on her own. And _either way_ , she will agree to be in the company of _real_ Templars.”

“You are not suggesting we _lie_ to Most Holy if they are slaves,” Cassandra asked, but it really wasn’t a question.

“No. I am saying I do not wish the conversation regarding safety in a Circle to be derailed by talks of slavery.” Sighed, Leliana relented to what Cassandra really wanted, “She will be informed. If she wishes to take up with the Magister-”

“Magistratrix.”

_“-Magistratrix_ after the Conclave about slavery, I will watch over the proceedings myself. Fair?”

Seeing only nodding heads in agreement, Leliana started in on her mental task list of things to get done and people to talk to and how she would go about finding what she wanted to know _without_ directly asking. Cassandra would be the death of her with her direct approach, and Cullen wasn’t much better. Josie at least had some sense about her, but she also played nice too often for Leliana’s liking.

“Is there anything else?” Leliana asked of Josephine, silently urging a ‘no’ as an answer.

“One more thing,” Josephine said apologetically. They’d already met in various combinations probably a dozen or more times throughout the day. This meeting was meant to be more of a formality and listing of emergencies. That no one else seemed to have anything felt a blessing.

“There is the matter of lodging. Of _accommodation_ for the Ostwick delegation. I was thinking we could move some of the Commander’s lieutenants from Haven’s cloisters, that would free up room from the Conclave apartments...”

“I thought they were camping with the Valo-Kas,” Cullen interjected, “They all seemed fine with the arrangement. Is there a problem?”

“No. There is no problem.” Josephine noted Cullen’s immediate relief, and was not at all sorry to ruin it, “If you are okay with insulting someone of peerage. The sons of Banns do not _camp_ when there are beds, Cullen.”

“This son of a Bann had to camp all the way _here_ , Josephine.”

“You don’t know that! They could have slept in Inns, and farmer’s homes, they- the _important_ thing is that now they are _here_ , they should be accommodated appropriately.”

“And you would have them remove _who_ exactly from the Conclave apartments? Need I remind you, Lady Montilyet, it took us _days_ to settle who would stay where?”

“And need I remind _you_ , Commander Rutherford, that it was _me_ who did the settling?”

Leliana stepped up between the two of them, her presence enough to forestall the shouting match this was about to become. Cullen was fighting for his officers; Josephine for the nobles. Both had a cause they would not easily back down from. She could see it from both sides, but it was patently ridiculous to be at each other’s throats for it.

“Josie - what about those apartments we were keeping empty? The ones right next to where Most Holy will be?”

Josephine liked to think of herself as a brave woman, usually. But in this? She was reluctant to speak.

_“Apartments?”_ Cassandra frowned, “There is only _one_ apartment unused between Most Holy and the rest of the Conclave. There is a noblewoman in the next one, I saw her….” The Seeker’s eyes got wide in recognition, then narrowed at their diplomat, “That was the Magister!”

“Magistratrix,” Josephine corrected, “And I certainly wasn’t about to tell her there weren’t appropriate accommodations.” She looked at Cullen, “You won’t convince me she _camped_ on the way here.”

“I couldn’t hardly care if she did!”

It was a rabble of overlapping, arguing voices, and Leliana really, REALLY hated being the voice of reason today. Normally Cassandra could be counted on to be level headed. She was quick to action and direct, of course, but she also seemed to be ruled more by logic than feeling. Today, however, was not a good day.

“Shut up!” The ex-bard snapped, tired of it, “Look at you! At each other’s throats. How will the Inquisition ever work if all we do is scream at each other? Most Holy would be _most_ disappointed.” Her words were quick to cow Cassandra, and Cullen wasn’t far behind. Leliana knew it was _her_ disappointment, however, that struck a chord for Josephine. She was tired of being the one with solutions today, but she would find more if she had to.

“We must keep at least the one apartment empty, Leliana,” Cassandra felt pressed to point out, “For safety. Let it be used for Most Holy's guards, if anything.”

“We are _not_ kicking the Magistratrix out of her apartment now. She would leave - and I _know_ this is of no great disappointment to anyone, but _please_ consider.” Josephine looked around at each of them, “I’m not suggesting we model the South after the Imperium, but she does have understanding of how, at the very least, Circles can be run independently without being chest-high in demons.”

“If at all possible,” Cullen now volunteered, given they were _trying_ to calmly point out their positions under the Nightingale’s hard and disapproving stare, “I would prefer _not_ to move my best men out from their accommodations. They work hard and deserve what little comfort they can be afforded. If needs be...if needs be, _I_ can move out and his Lordship can have my room. The two men with me can squeeze in with the rest - they’re not all sleeping on the same schedule, anyway.”

“Let’s do this,” Leliana interrupted Josephine’s very obvious caving happening in the wake of Cullen’s willing sacrifice, “Let me go and speak to them. You say they are camping with the Valo-Kas?” With the Commander’s nod, she continues, “I need to determine if my people or perhaps the Valo-Kas would be best suited to rooting out the truth about this Magist- _Magistratrix._ I’ll talk to the two of them while I am down there and see how upset they are with accommodations. If they are not…?”

_“If_ they are not,” Josephine allowed, “Then they may, of course, remain where they are, but Leliana-”

“I know. I know. I will ask, Josie. It will be alright.”

Josephine huffed. It wouldn’t be alright. Nothing would be alright ever again. Or...not any time soon. But still. This wasn’t a complete disaster. They’d nearly gotten at each other, but Leliana had stopped them. Cassandra had stopped her and the Commander fighting before. Josephine had stopped a disagreement between the Commander and Cassandra. Maybe this could work. Maybe Most Holy had made the right choice in all of them. Maybe something in this whole disaster would go right.

“Alright,” Lady Montilyet put on her best face, “That’s all on my agenda. Anything else?”

“No.”

“Not from me.”  
  


“Maker’s breath, no.”

“Very well! Meeting adjourned.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title via "Maria" by Rogers & Hammerstein (Sound of Music)


	9. Wake Me Up When It's All Over

**Chapter Eight**

Hissera came awake like she’d never been asleep. One minute she’d closed her eyes in the dark, the next she opened them and it was light outside the tent. Barely, but light still. She could hear the gentle murmur of voices and the metal slide of someone sharpening a sword. It was probably the only moment of peace she was going to get all day, and she was determined to stretch it out.

The Conclave was a clusterfuck. She’d never spent so long making the same disapproving face in her life. She only thanked whatever gods existed that people still found Qunari intimidating. It headed off plenty of fights last night. Hotheaded assholes. All of them. Every single one. Even the Chantry sisters. Vipers, every last one of them.

Granted, the more she heard, the more she understood both sides, but still. No one was chaining anyone up or sewing their mouths shut. Hissera rubbed at her bottom lip - the place the scars on her mother’s lip were the most visible. She couldn’t even imagine.

Sighing, she realized she had to get up, regardless. Hissera was meant to be working. She also needed to be quiet about leaving, though, so her tent-mate didn’t stab her in the ankle. The warrior dressed in the clothes she’d left at the foot of her sleeping mat in a haze of morning routine. She was half-wearing, half-carrying her armor and weapons and pack as she carefully ducked out of her tent.

She nodded at the men sitting around the campfire, before turning and tying the tent flap. Hissera came to join the others, laying her gear down behind the log functioning as their bench, and sat down. She checked in with the only member of her crew at the fire. Kaariss passed on the run-down of issues and she made a mental note to rotate the roster. When she noticed the other two giving them odd looks for speaking only in Qunlat, she snorted.

“His Lordship not up yet?” Hissera asked of the Templar currently tending a pot of what she _hoped_ was coffee over the fire.

Lucius shook his head, “No - and he won’t like you calling him that.”

“Really? Even if he is one?”

“That’s the problem,” Lucius sighed, “He isn’t, technically. Won’t be, ever.” He fixed the Qunari with his full attention, “I joke, upon occasion, but I can’t do it too often, or he’ll remember - that he’ll never follow in his father’s footsteps. That he’ll never have his father’s title. Not while he’s a Mage.”

“Ah.” Hissera was not exactly prepared for that dose of reality this early in the morning. Instead, she looked to Ronan, “And what about _your_ worse half?”

Ronan snorted, “Him? Are you kidding? He fell into bed as I was getting out. He was up the whole night.”

“Doing what?”

“Prowling about, I suspect,” Ronan couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped, “That _is_ what you hired him for, isn’t it?”

“Suppose so,” Hissera allowed, then nudged the Qunari on the log next to her. “Hey.” She rummaged around in her pack, digging out the pair of boots she’d pilfered off one of Ronan’s former colleagues. Thunking them down next to Kaariss, she gave a little hand-waggle presentation.

“For me?” He blinked, picking one up and matching it sole-to-what-was-left-of-sole with his current boots. “Oh hey! They’re-” Instead of finishing that thought, he stripped his boots off and laced the new ones up, wiggling his toes and rolling his ankles. He hopped up and did a weird lunging walk around the outside of the campfire.

Hissera shook her head, smiling, but when she looked up to gauge Ronan’s reaction, it was the woman approaching behind him that caught her eye. Light armor - no jingle. Hood up - a wisp of red hair peeking out. About fifteen places to stash a dagger. The Nightingale. Dis would shit herself to be here right now.

Adar stood up, repressing the grin that wanted to break out on her face, and moved around to intercept. She clapped Ronan on the shoulder as she passed; he was looking around, confused. “To what do we owe the pleasure of seeing the Left Hand of the Divine so early in the morning?”

Leliana allowed the curl of her lips at the corner - a hint of her amusement playing through. She found herself surprised. Expecting less and receiving more from these mercenaries. Armed with the very _thorough_ description Josie had given her, she managed to return with, “Let us see whether or not it is a pleasure after we have spoken - Hissera Adaar.”

Hissera’s brows rose for her hairline, “Guess I shouldn’t really be surprised, but-” She gestured into the camp. Kaariss had stopped whatever weird test of his boots he was doing and sat down in Adaar’s vacated spot. Lucius and Ronan were dithering over the pot, and she remembered to offer, “We have coffee.”

“I take it back,” Leliana looked around as she came to sit next to the slighter-framed Qunari on the log, “It is already a pleasure, if someone will pour me a cup.”

Hissara laughed, “That we can do.” She hurried the menfolk along and had Kaariss dig around in her bag for her spare cup. The coffee was poured and introductions were made. A straggler or two wandered up throughout the process, drawn by the smell, but Hissera quickly waved them on. _Sister Leliana,_ as she’d once been called, seemed to be surveying the area around her. Getting a read on them, maybe. She kept eyeing the templar in particular. Hissera was loath to interrupt whatever she was doing, but she did, eventually, have work to do.

“So then - was there something you needed?”

Leliana smiled into her cup. She’d nearly been at the point of talking. The Qunari had admirable patience, compared to most. “I have a matter to discuss with you in private, later, but for right now I need to speak with two guests in your camp. I am led to believe there is a mage and a templar from Ostwick camping in your row.”

Hissera’s eyes darted from Leliana to Lucius. She’d been staring right at the man. She’d be willing to bet anything the Nightingale already knew he was the right one. It was almost as exhausting as talking to Dis - with less flirting.

“I would be that Templar, Sister Leliana.” Lucius spoke up promptly.

Leliana shook her head and lowered her cup to her knee, “Just Leliana. So you are Lucius Cane?”

He nodded.

“And where is your counterpart?”

“Asleep still yet, m’am.” He didn’t bother asking if he should rouse Alex. She’d already made clear she wished to speak to the both of them. Lucius started to put down his cup, looked at the contents, then filled it up and went to wake the mage. Fortification ought to do it.

Hissera nodded her head at Kaariss, who moved over to Ronan and led him away to the next fire over. “Private enough?” She spoke low and dared to shuffle closer to one of the most feared women in Thedas.

“Enough,” Leliana allowed, “There is a Magister-” she sighed, hearing Josie’s correction in her head, “A female Magister, sometimes called a Magistratrix, here - at the conclave.”

“Didn’t realize she was coming here.”

“You’ve seen her?”

“No,” Hissera indicated the tent the Templar had gone into with a tilt of her chin, “But they have. Nearly got killed by the Magis...stray-” She gave a grunt of annoyance, “The Magister’s men.” Hissera recognized the look of someone who was waiting for more information in Leliana’s face. It was the look forever plastered on Dis’, for one thing. “Some insult to the Magister,” Adaar shook her head and downed the last of her coffee, “I don’t think Cane meant it, or even knew she was about, but she’d heard. And she was pissed. Everyone but her driver took turns wailing on the man.”

“And he lived?” Leliana couldn’t help but be impressed, knowing how many traveled with the Magistratrix. She was impressed at his fighting skill, if not his ability to get a mage out of bed. She could hear the whinging from here.

“Yeah. Alex is a hell of a healer. Brought him and another man back from the brink.” Hissera didn’t feel like sharing how much the little mage had almost killed himself doing it, but maybe she should have. Reasonable expectations, and all that.

“Mm.” Leliana considered that for a moment, savoring her last sip of the - frankly - toxically strong beverage. She needed two more. “I need to know if any of the Magister’s entourage are slaves.”

“You care how?”

“Short of asking the Magister herself? No.” Leliana appreciated the lack of dithering.

“I can get it done.” She looked across the fire at the next camp, “Kaariss is probably the best bet. He makes friends easy. We got an in at all?”

“No.” Leliana sat her mug down next to Hissara’s foot, “My best guess is they’re all hired hands but two. Bodyguard and personal attendant.”

Hissera snorted. _‘Personal attendant’. Sure._

“I know.” Leliana seconded that derision and stood as the Templar and his Mage companion finally emerged from their tent.

“I’ll let you know by tomorrow.” Hissera busied herself with cleaning up around the fire, more or less to leave them to their business. Mostly, though, she needed Kaariss on this as soon as possible. She nodded at the other two as they passed.

“M’am - this is Enchanter Alexander Trevelyan.” Lucius stepped back into the circle around the fire and moved over far enough for Alex to have a seat beside him.

“Enchanter Trevelyn,” Leliana inclined her head, speaking before the painfully polite Templar could introduce her as ‘lady’ anything. “My name is Leliana.” She gestured to the log behind the young man and took a seat across from him.

“Hullo.” Alex said meekly, sitting rather reluctantly and folding his hands in his lap. He eased a little as Lucius sat down next to him.

Leliana didn’t miss a bit of it. She rather thought it was a bit like the Hero of Ferelden being more comfortable whenever someone of martial prowess was nearby. A comfort knowing if her magic couldn’t kill them, they’d never make it past her friend. And they did seem to be. Friends. She also couldn’t help but notice how the mage sat as though preparing for bad news. Preparing to be scolded.

“I am here to discuss your accommodations,” Leliana said, finally taking pity on the lad, “There was some concern that you would not find camping to be suitable to your station.”

“To my...station?” Alex asked, confused, “As an Enchanter? I mean anybody can be one.”

“That’s not true,” Lucius admonished.

“Well, I mean, practically. It isn’t as though you have a whole lot else to focus or work on in the Circle - you may as well go after your Enchantership. And again, it really wasn’t that hard.” His eyes flew wide and he turned quickly back to their newest acquaintance, “Unless- ...you?”

Leliana shook her head slowly, lips curled in a wry smile, “No. I am not a Mage.” She studied him a moment, as the tension oozed out of his frame, then shored right back up. He seemed a _nervous_ creature. Not exactly the most comforting disposition for a Mage to possess. “Lady Montilyet spoke to me about you.”

“She did?”

Leliana’s eyes narrowed as his whole face lit up. He quickly pulled himself back from leaning forward and fussed with the lay of his quickly-thrown-on robes.

“I mean...good things?”

“She spoke to me only of her knowledge of your being the only son of Bann Trevelyan. A fact that seems rather confirmed by these.” Leliana pulled several missives out of the inside of her cloak and held them out. She wasn’t surprised it was the Templar to get up and retrieve them.

Alex leaned over as Lucius brought the letters back, peeking at them, before noticing, “You...opened them?”

“Any correspondence delivered to the Conclave as opposed to directly to an individual is read. And as none of us knew who the ‘Ostwick Delegation’ was until yesterday...I felt it best for us to have every available piece of information in our disposal.”

“Oh...that’s...well, that’s alright then.” Alex realized Lucius wasn’t saying anything, “What do they say?”

“There was an uprising.”

“What?” Alex snatched the letter out of his hands and stood, eyes quickly scanning up and down the page. He sighed in relief, clutching the letter to his chest as he got to the end. He all but collapsed back onto the log. The Circle was still more or less together, minus a handful of malcontents, and the Head Enchanter was safe.

“Well?”

“Well what?”

“I hadn’t gotten to the end of it.”

“Oh! Everyone’s fine. Well, your boss and the Grand Enchanter are fine.” Alex handed the letter back over, “It was only a handful of mages that decided they’d have a go at rebellion and two of them got out and ran off who knows where. That was the most recent one, wasn’t it?”

Lucius nodded, reading the letter for himself to be sure Alex didn’t misunderstand something in his haste. How anyone could read that fast, he had no idea.

“So, I’m sorry - wow - I’m very awake now. What were you...saying about my father? And...accommodations? Is he here?”

“No,” Leliana could see it, in the way the two of them interacted. Like older and younger brothers. Thankfully the older one had a wealth of patience. “As you _are_ the son of Bann Trevelyan, Lady Montilyet felt it best to house you and Templar Cane in the conclave itself.”

“Oh.”

He sounded disappointed. Leliana tried to parse that, but the Templar had finished the letter and was speaking of logistics. He reminded Leliana of Cullen.

“As we were delayed in our journey, I had thought all the rooms would be filled by now. Someone would have to move out for our sake, would they not?”

“Yes.”

“Oh, well that’s-” Alex’s brows drew together. Gods he hated sleeping on the ground. But making someone _else_ sleep on the ground would probably make him feel like an asshole.

“There is _one_ room available - though I had intended to leave it open.” Leliana settled in to watch their reactions, “But it would be next to the only Magister in attendance.”

“She’s here?!” Alex jumped up again, looking around as though she might pop up from between a row of tents, all draped in black yelling ‘Bleh!’

Lucius watched Lady Leliana - Left Hand of the Divine - and realized, “You know - what happened.”

“Some,” She allowed.

Alex’s head whipped back around, “Then you know what a terrible person she is! Having fourteen of her little thugs-”

“There weren’t that many.”

“-on poor Lucius before she sent out a half-giant-”

“He was a man, Alex.”

“-might’ve caved in his skull!”

“It wasn’t that bad.”

“Wasn’t that bad! You didn’t see you!” Alex could hear the cracking in his voice as he turned to face Lucius, “There was blood everywhere and nothing I was doing was helping! He was going to cave in your _skull_ , Lucius! He had _murder_ in his eyes! Why if it wasn’t for that elf that ran-!”

“What elf?” Leliana was surprised at how quickly the little mage got himself under control enough to answer. Desperate, he was, to have someone else be outraged on behalf of his friend.

“The- the-” Alex rolled his hand, looked at Lucius - and then remembered he was unconscious at that point - and groaned. “He- I don’t know. I think it was an elf?”

“You _think_ it was an elf.”

“Yes, he- well, uh…” Alex tried to gather his thoughts. Then realized it was a bad job and just spit it out, “I thought it was a demon - at first - but I couldn’t remember if they had pointy ears or not.”

Leliana only raised her eyebrows.

“What? What in the world are you talking about, Alex?”

“Oh, you were unconscious.” Alex waved the Templar off, “Just as the Avaar (I think it was an Avvar, what with the blue paint and the furs) was about to bash your head in, and take me with you, someone yelled for him to stop. And then...this...uh...well, calling him a ‘creature’ sounds rude if it’s an elf, but not if it’s a demon?”

“Go on,” Leliana encouraged.

“Well, he got out of the carriage, and he had this huge fur cloak on. He got in between the Avaar and us, and I didn’t really hear what he said - mostly because all I could hear was my blood in my ears.” Alex paced a few steps away before returning, “And at some point I must’ve stood up, because when he turned around, we were at an eye level. He whipped off the fur cloak and put it around my shoulders. He whispered in my ear to check the pockets - he had an accent I couldn’t really-”

_“Alex.”_

“Right. Well, he swanned off with the Avaar, and left us there, but in the pockets were two healing potions I poured down your throat and two bottles of lyrium which tasted oddly like cherries. Pretty much the only thing that kept you from dying, Lucius.”

Lucius looked down, trying to recall any of this. He supposes he remembers voices. Talking. But that could have just as well been Ronan or any of the others at the Inn.

“What made you think he was a demon?”

“Uh, he...augh,” Alex lifted a hand to his cheek, where he could already feel it heating up. “The...way he was dressed. Or rather - wasn’t.”

“Naked?”

“No! Not- not _naked_ ,” Alex whispered, casting a look about, “But he may as well have been. He was practically only wearing gold jewelry and silks.”

“In this weather?”

“Well until he gave it to me, he had that giant cloak, if you’ll recall. It _is_ terribly warm.” Alex turned to Leliana, “We sleep under it now. Very cozy.”

Lucius sighed.

“Anyway….uh...so yes. Gold jewelry and silks. He looked...he looked-”

“Spit it out, Alex.”

“Well, he looked _ratherlikeadesiredemon.”_ Alex sat down in a huff.

Leliana could only chuckle as the Templar got the mage to repeat himself again. Then slower. But when he asked a third time, the mage balked.

“I’m not going to say it again! You know good and well what I said - _Maker’s Smalls,_ Lucius. It’s bad enough I had to say it the once. Looking back now, I’m pretty sure he was just a very attractive elf. But at the time, I was fairly well out of mana and a little punch-drunk. _Confused,_ is all.”

“Confused,” Lucius repeated, nodding knowingly.

“Yes! Confused.Concussed, even.” Alex crossed his arms and his legs and refused to look at Lucius.

“So may I be correct in assuming you have no _desire_ to room next to the Magister?”

“Certainly not.” When he could feel Lucius gearing up to talk him into it - if only for Alex’s sake, he’d say - he cut in, “I’d rather be rained on every day than sleep under the same roof as that woman. Terrible, horrible harpy. I hope the elf stabs her in her sleep.”

_“Alex!”_

“Well I do!”

“Very well,” Leliana said, getting up. She was amused how quickly the both of them got to their feet as well, “I will arrange with the Valo-Kas for you to stay - if that is agreeable?”

“Oh yes! They’re all terribly nice.”

When the Templar didn’t object, Liliana nodded and moved to approach the group’s second in command. “Good day, gentlemen.”

“Goodbye!”

“Have a good day,” Lucius bid, “Sister Nightingale.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title via "Wake Me Up" by Avicii.


	10. If You Walk Out That Door

**Chapter Nine**

There was a spring in his step and a tune on his lips and the world cleared a path when he walked. Granted, he was wearing a dead man’s shoes, and he couldn’t remember any of the words to the song, and people were more likely to spit on him than say hello - but still. All things considered, it was shaping up to be a beautiful morning. Kaariss had breakfast in his stomach and easy jobs on his to-do list today.

“Hey!”

Kaariss turned, smiling when he recognized one of his fellows. As they moved to intercept each other, he slipped into their ‘mother’ tongue easy enough, [“Killed anyone yet?”]

[“Give it time,”] Sataa rolled her eyes. She turned to look in the direction her friend had been headed and crossed her arms, [“I thought you were patrolling with Ashaad Two today?”] She glared at one of the Templars that had slowed down to give the two of them a dirty look.

[“Mmm. Change of plans. Change of roster. But it might just be you, Ashaad, and AT. Pass the word along and check in with Hissera when you can. You seen the boss?”]

[ _“Ugh_. No.”] Sataa sighed and basked in the relative quiet of the morning. It was all going to be ruined soon enough. [“Is it rude to say I like the humans better when they’re sleeping?”]

Kaariss barked out a laugh that scared several nearby people - one of them dropping a pan they were washing.

[“Oh, but Sataa! How would they call you fun names or give you such _adoring_ looks if they were asleep?”] He chuckled again at her glare, [“Go on. I have to get going - special assignment.”]

[“Special assignment?”] Disbelief colored Sataa’s voice, [“Since when are you special?”]

Kaariss gasped in mock outrage, “Well!” and started to walk off.

[“Hey wait! Where are you going?”]

[“That’s for _special_ people to know!”] Kaariss called back over his shoulder, [ _"Non-special_ people report to Adar!”] He laughed at the insult she lobbed back, another tune already on his lips. Yes. Today was going to be a good day.

* * *

“Hello Miss. Dwarf.”

Dis rolled her eyes up slowly. And boy, did she roll them up a good long while. Qunari were too tall for their own good. She sighed, “What’s she want?”

“Woah! Don’t I get a hello back? Maybe a good morning? What’s your name, handsome? Anything?”

Dis gave the Qunari a once-over. He was one of the newer ones, she thought. She and Hissera had worked “together” off and on a good number of years, and so she knew most of the Valo-Kas by name and face now. She was sure they all knew _her_ by now too. This kid had only been brought on within the last year. He was tall - like they all were - but of slighter build than most. He had the look of a rogue about him, as bizarre as that was for Dis to wrap her mind around. He had a human-sort of complexion and short horns. He also had a smile that would be charming to a more naive person, and it probably got him into as much trouble as it got him out of. She was pretty sure his name started with a ‘K’. They’d never actually _met_ before right this second, though.

“Look, Junior. I’m busy. So why don’t you just tell me what Hissera wants, and you can get on your way, and I can get on mine?”

“Tou-chy.” Came the sing-song reply, “Well I’ll have you know, Miss. Dis, that she doesn’t want anything. Or, well, maybe she does. I wouldn’t know.” Before the dwarf can interrupt, Kaariss pulled a missive out of his jacket, “She wanted me to deliver this to you.”

“Put it on the counter.”

Kaariss looked from his hand, to the dwarf, to the wooden board propped on two barrels, back to the dwarf.

Dis sighed and held out her hand expectantly. She eyed the boy when he didn’t immediately let go of the letter, “If you even _think_ about snatching it back from me to hold over my head, I will saw your kneecaps off.” Dis chuckled to herself as the Qunari dropped the letter like it was on fire and hopped back. She frowned as she read, “Alright. Job done. Message delivered. Toddle on.”

“What? Don’t you have questions?” He leaned in, trying to see over the top of the paper, “Aren’t you going to tell me what it says?”

Dis stared up at him, unblinking, “Why in the hells would I do that...when you already read it on the way over?”

“What! How-”

Dis scoffed, “Kid, trust me. It’ll be a hot day in the frozen sea when a rookie like you can get one over on me.” She shooed him on.

Kaariss grinned, “Alright, alright.” He threw up his hands and started walking backwards, “I hear you loud and clear: ‘try harder’.” He grinned when she just kept frowning at him. “Have a nice day... _Valdis.”_

He turned, laughing, and heard her shout behind him: “I know where you sleep, Qunari!”

Kaariss jogged up the path, dodging merchants and Templars and mercenaries and pilgrims; Chantry sisters clogged up the road too - white and red as far as the eye could see. Morning vespers just let out, he assumed. It didn’t take long to get up to the meeting hall. Chantry? Was it a Chantry? He couldn’t remember. It was the place that was built for Andraste’s ashes.

The place in Haven proper was a Chantry. This was like...a mega-Chantry. Kaariss stopped just a moment in front of the thing, looking up-up-up to the statues of people and creatures that adorned the facade of the building. He supposed he should be thinking about the artistry and grandeur and _holiness_ of the site. He really just couldn’t get over what humans would spend money doing.

After one more discontented grumbling about him being in the way, Kaariss was on the move again. Weaving in and out of the workers and servants and guests and oh-! He waved to get his fellow’s attention, then wove his way over.

“Hey-” Kaariss stood close and spoke low in the King’s Tongue, since Meraad’s Qunlat wasn’t what any of them called ‘great’. “Adar’s re-doing the roster for today. You seen the boss?”

Meraad shook her head, “No. What’s wrong with the roster now?”

“I have to do something, so a couple of people are shifting around to suit me. Not you though, don’t worry.”

“You been punched yet for saying that with such a smug tone?”

“You could be the first.” Kaariss smiled and offered up his shoulder.

Meraad snorted, “I’m not getting yelled at for putting you out of commission...again.”

“Ooh-hoo! So you think you can?” He bounced back, just out of reach. “C’mon then!”

Meraad rolled her eyes, “Get gone. I’ll pass the word if I see the boss. Is that all you needed her for?”

“Yeah.” Kaariss nodded, scoping out the side-wing Meraad had stationed herself in. There were more people that looked like staff back here, and he spied a door that he was pretty sure led to the cloister rooms. “Thanks, Mer!”

With her nod, he was off. Kaariss slipped through a door into a side passage and barely avoided a harried-looking elf with her arms full of linens. Now, to think, there were _lots_ of elves back here. Hmm. Kaariss had gotten a description from the little Mage that had set up in their camp, and he found himself comparing that likeness to each elf he passed. He wound his way all the way around the place, and was no closer to finding this _particular_ elf, when he heard the words that every peacekeeper knew was the _start_ of trouble.

_“Please. I do not want trouble.”_

_“And there’s not gonna be any trouble, is there, little rabbit?”_

It was coming from an offshoot hallway up ahead, and Kaariss quickened his steps. The elf would have to wait until he sorted whatever mess this was about to be.

Stepping around the corner, he couldn’t believe his luck! It was the elf!

Hemmed in by two dangerous-looking men. Naturally. It would only be more clichéd, in Kaariss’ opinion, if they were wearing Templar armor and the elf was a mage. Come to think of it - he’d read a book an awful lot like this once.

The elf was trapped against the wall, boxed in by one of the men’s arms. “Please,” He pleaded again, sinking a little, in an effort to make himself look smaller. He clutched the linen sack in his arms tighter, defensively.

The man leaned in, smiling as the elf turned his face away, “Awe, you already beg so nicely. How about-”

“Hey,” The second tapped his shoulder and gestured to the head of the hall.

“What exactly is going on here?” Kaariss felt himself say, more than he actually chose to say it. _Isn’t that what the Warden said in that book? Egads._

“Doesn’t concern you, ox-man,” The human penning in the elf shot back. “We’re just having a chat with our friend here. Why don’t you just move along?”

Kaariss supposes he should be grateful there wasn’t actual ‘moo-ing’ this time. He isn’t, though, and sighs, “Yeah, I don’t think so. Why don’t you step away from the elf, and you and I have a little chat?” Kaariss put his hands on the pommels of his shortswords. He wasn’t dumb enough to think neither of these men had a blade on them somewhere, but at least they would have had to leave their _real_ weapons out in camp or peace-bonded in their rooms if they were here.

The two of them looked at each other and seemed to weigh the merits of starting a fight or letting it go. Whatever passed between them, a decision was made quickly.

“Alright, Qunari, no need to get upset. It was just a talk. We’ll be on our way.” The man _not_ getting aggressively close to an unwilling elf put his hands up and waited for his buddy to disentangle himself.

The other man leaned in and whispered something to the poor elf, before pushing himself off the wall and joining his friend. They left peaceably enough, but Kaariss didn’t take his eyes off them until they’d turned the corner and he heard their footsteps fade.

He turned back to find the elf still against the wall, face now buried in the linen bag. Kaariss approached slowly, and spoke as gently as he knew how, “Hey there - are you- are you okay? Did they hurt you?”

The elf took a deep breath and then raised his head. Kaariss could immediately see the appeal. The shock of white hair against umber skin was mesmerizing. And the gold jewelry that dangled from his ears and dotted his nose and eyebrow only drew out the shine of his cat-gold eyes.

“No,” The elf’s voice was low and soft as well, “You came before they could do anything but talk.”

Kaariss knew what Alex was talking about with the accent now. It was...odd. He couldn’t place it at all. It had a little of the rolling timbre of Antivan, but not _quite_ . He didn’t know how in the world the little mage could have thought him a _demon_ , but Kaariss wasn’t about to throw stones.

The Qunari blinked and remembered to ask, “What did he say to you, as he left?”

The elf looked away, “He said that he would find me later.” 

“Ugh,” Kaariss commiserated with a grunt of disgust. The elf had sounded more annoyed than scared in that moment, and Kaariss couldn’t help but admire him a little. “What a creep. Well. Where are you off to? I’ll escort you.”

Those large, keen eyes snapped back up to Kaariss’ face, “You _really_ don’t have to do that.”

“I know,” Kaariss allowed, smiling, “I want to. Besides, I mean it _is_ sort of my job to provide security at this Conclave.”

The elf dithered only a moment, before smiling appreciatively, “Well, in _that_ case...thank-you.” He stood up proper, instead of leaning against the wall and cocked his head, “What is your name?”

“Ah! Kaariss,” the Qunari took a half step back and bowed dramatically, “At your service, serah…?”

The elf’s amused chuckle was low, and crinkled around his eyes. He looked up at Kaariss through his lashes as the Qunari stood, and answered, “This one was given the name Calix.”

“A pleasure to meet you, Calix,” Kaariss gestured ahead of himself, and out of the little hallway, “Shall we?”

“Just so,” Calix answered with a nod, and moved forward on gliding, quiet steps.

Kaariss noted he wasn’t wearing shoes, which was a trifle odd, considering it really wasn’t the warmest weather up here in the mountains. But then he got distracted by the thick braid of the elf’s hair - it reached the curve of his lower back. “Wow!”

Calix looked over to Kaariss and raised an eyebrow.

“You have so much hair!” He said. Stupidly. Before he could properly think of anything to say, the elf laughed - a proper one this time, all teeth and eyes, and it was just as smooth as his gait. “Sorry.”

Calix shook his head, “No need to apologize. I have been told it is beautiful, but it is a _terror_ to maintain.”

“I bet.” Kaariss had to drag his eyes away to watch where they were going, “I mean, it’d be a shame to chop it all off, but...why grow it out if it’s such a pain?”

“My- ...employer prefers it long.”

It occurred to Kaariss, then, that everything about this elf was _meant_ to be appealing. He was pretty on his own, but the rest of it was surely for show. The hair, the jewelry, the kohl around his eyes. Even the way he walked and the gentle roll of his laugh was- _calculated._ Aimed to please. Aimed to please his _employer_ . Or maybe he was just imagining it, because _he_ \- Kaariss - found the elf so appealing.

He needed to come about this from an angle. _What would Warden Ajax do?_

“Employer?” Kaariss hummed in amusement, “You ever think about striking out on your own? You know, start your own hair-care shop?”

Calix smiled up at Kaariss, the two of them pausing for a procession of other people at a cross-ways. He snorted an amused hum, “You are _funny_ , Kaariss.”

When they had started moving again, the elf continued, “My employer is the only reason I am here.” His gaze darted up to Kaariss for a moment, before he concentrated pointedly on the hallway ahead. “She had a desire to be here, and so - _I_ am here.”

“Your employer?” He couldn’t help but echo, following the elf down the corridor that would lead to Most Holy’s chambers. Even now there were two guards posted out front at the end. She wasn’t due ‘til after lunch, the lazy bastards.

“Yes,” Calix confirmed, “I am...employed by my...Lady. She is my...employer. I go where she wills it.” They stopped two doors down from the end, and Calix turned to face Kaariss. He looked down, then up through his lashes again. It was a coy look that was doing Kaariss’ heart no favors, “This one is flattered you think him important enough to have come here on his own.”

“Oh, well, uh-” Kaariss fumbled for something to say. He hadn’t hardly got started, and he was about to be dismissed! _Be smooth!_ His eyes caught on the gold earrings on the elf’s ears, their delicate chains linking near the tip of his ear to his earlobe. Kaariss slowly reached out to one, “It’s just...you seem so fancy! All this jewelry.”

The elf didn’t try to evade Kaariss’ touch like he did the two men from before, and the Qunari was shocked when he actually had his fingers on the elf’s ear. The metal was cool to the touch, but quickly warmed. Calix huffed a tiny breath a leaned in, until Kaariss’ hand was shaping his jaw.

“My _employer_ will be out until lunch.”

His voice was so soft, Kaariss found himself leaning in to hear him. The elf’s eyes flicked to the door, and Kaariss suddenly remembered their audience. If he had any chance of finding out the truth, he needed this elf to keep talking, and he didn’t need to be out here under the increasingly interested stare of two assholes in fancy armor. In the room it was.

He nodded and let his hand fall away.

Calix opened the door and walked through the small sitting room. He paused at an archway to look back at Kaariss before continuing.

Kaariss closed the door behind him and turned the latch out of habit. He looked around, noting how very quickly the Magister had made herself at home. Or, really, how quickly _Calix_ probably had made up the room to make her feel at home. He had no idea where such cushy looking chairs had come from. Or the ornate rug. There was even a tapestry hung on one of the walls that looked Tevene - if all the dark colors and sharp angles were any indication.

It was dim, but inviting. Cozy. He wanted to linger and could easily picture himself in front of the fire with a glass of something. There were travel cases and trunks being used as tables and some sort of gauzy fabric was over the windows, allowing a gentle light in while still providing some privacy from where passersby might walk.

The bedroom was a little darker, as it was lit only by candlelight. Calix was standing in front of the bed, which took up the majority of the room. Kaariss noted the bundle the elf had been carrying earlier was perched on a nearby chair, and when he looked back, Calix was undoing the ties at his shoulders for his tunic. The red sash that had been around his middle was draped over the footboard, and before Kaariss could say a word, fabric puddled at the elf’s feet, leaving him bare from the waist up.

“Ngk,” Kaariss managed.

Calix stepped from the pile of clothes and crossed the floor in controlled, fluid steps. There was a snaking elegance from his hips up to his shoulders that left Kaariss’ mouth dry. There were glints of gold on his chest, but before Kaariss could really process that, the elf was suddenly there. In front of him. Bold as you please, with his two fine-boned little hands on the Qunari’s chest.

“You should be thanked-” One of Calix’s hands trailed higher, plucking the top-most button of Kaariss’ shirt open with a flick of deft fingers, “-for helping me.”

And he could see it - Kaariss could. He could see tipping his head down just enough to catch the elf’s lips with his own. Could see him letting Calix undo the buttons of his tunic and push off his armored coat. He’d have him backed up to the bed. He’d worship every last inch of him.

On the Magister’s bed.

With the Magister’s slave.

Kaariss jolted as though splashed with cold water, the reality of the situation clenching at his stomach in a cold grip. “No.” He put his hand over the elf’s even as he took a step back. “I mean that’s- you don’t have to-”

“I know I don’t have to.” Calix tilted his head just slightly, baring up the long line of his throat. It was an echo of Karriss’ own words used on him now “I _want_ to.”

“Hah.” Kaariss breathed out. He dearly needed his blood to come back _up_ to his brain now, thank-you. _What would the Warden do? What would the Warden do? Well he wouldn’t stand around dithering whether or not he should fuck a slave!_

Luckily, Calix seemed content to wait out Kaariss’ little internal struggle. His hands were warm against Kaariss’s chest and in his hand. Those perfectly manicured little nails gave him _ideas,_ too _._ But no. No. This would be wrong. On so _very_ many levels.

“I don’t know what your _employer_ expects of you, Calix, but I won’t be like her.” He pulled the elf’s hands away, gently returning them to him. “I won’t be like those men in the hallway, either. I can’t.”

Calix’s expression went a little slack in surprise, then gentled into a smile that radiated gratitude. Kaariss felt even _worse_ for what he’d almost considered doing. Good gods. The elf was practically melting for someone to be _decent_ to him.

“You’re a good man, _Kaariss.”_

“The way you say my name doesn’t really make me feel like acting like one.” He smiled, hoping to portray that he was joking well enough. The elf’s answering chuckle relieved him greatly.

“My apologies, then.” Calix nodded before turning on his toes and snatching up his tunic. The whole affair of re-dressing was far more perfunctory than how he’d gotten _un-dressed_. Quicker, too. As he began to wind his sash again, he asked, “Does it have a particular meaning, your name?”

“Kaariss? Yeah. It means something like...thinking master? Master of thinking?” He laughed, “I guess my parents had great hopes I’d be a philosopher or something.”

“Perhaps they had hope that you would be the master of your thoughts.” He looked up at Kaariss with something like pride as he retrieved the linen sack in the chair. It did funny things to Kaariss’ stomach.

“Well. If you ask anyone I work with, they’ll tell you that didn’t really work out.” Kaariss watched while the elf stripped the bed of it's linens with quick proficiency. “I tend to let my mouth run without thinking.”

He had to say _something_ , but damn he wasn’t buggered for coherent thought today, “I will say that I hardly ever _act_ without thinking - so maybe that counts for something.”

“I would say-” Calix snapped the fresh linens open, letting them drift down to the bed before he set about folding and tucking the corners. “-that it counts for quite a lot. So long as you do not think and think and think...and never act.”

“I don’t think there’s any chance of that.”

“Hmm.” The elf regarded him over the bed with curiosity, all the while smoothing and straightening fresh sheets. When he moved to collect a large quilt that had been over a trunk, Kaariss made an aborted step in that direction.

“One wonders, then-” Calix hefted the thing like it weighed hardly anything and began unrolling it across the bed. “-what you may still be doing here.”

“Here...at the Conclave?” He asked, full well knowing the elf meant, “Or here in this room?”

Calix fussed with the pillows that had been rolled up with the quilt. He didn’t bother answering, and Kaariss knew the question didn’t deserve one. He set everything back to rights, bundling the old sheets into the linen bag and tossing it to the side for later.

Done with his task,Calix turned and walked back to Kaariss, with that slow, calculating walk of his. “If you did not follow me in, in order to claim your reward - then why are you here? _Kaariss.”_

“Truthfully?”

“Unless the lie is sweeter.”

The elf was standing far too close for this conversation. Kaariss almost felt as though _he_ were the one with information and this little elf the interrogator. He could smell his cologne? Perfume? Soap? It smelled of spice and flowers, whatever it was.

“The truth is…” _Is it a lie when it’s also true?_ “...the truth is I wasn’t ready to leave.”

“No?” The way Calix asks could be innocent. But the look in his eyes isn’t.

“No.” Kaariss raises his hand to cup the elf’s cheek again. Calix covers his hand with one of his own and leans into the touch like a flower searching for the sun. His eyes close in surrender as Kaariss gently runs his thumb beneath one eye - over the curve of his cheek.

Calix turns his head just enough to press a kiss to Kaariss’ hand. His eyes drift open as he kisses his way slowly to the tip of his thumb. Kaariss drags his thumb over that full, bottom lip and breathes life into a hundred fantasies.

“You shouldn’t have to serve that Magister.”

If Calix is surprised at his words, he doesn’t show it. He brings his other hand up to Kaariss’ chest again and regards him with a sly smile, “I serve _you_ instead?”

“No!” The word leaps out of Kaariss’ mouth and he gathers the elf’s hands in his, holds them to his chest, “No,” He says more firmly, “You shouldn’t _have_ to serve anyone. You should-” Kaariss dithered; oh he hoped he wasn’t about to spoil all this by practically asking, like some fresh recruit. “I would prefer for you to be _free_. To do as you wish. Serve - or don’t - whoever you like.”

“I see,” Calix’s smile gentles again, and Kaariss feels like he’s passed a test. “And what would you do? If I were free?”

Kaariss raised the elf’s hands, watching those bright eyes as he turned one to place a kiss to the center of his palm. _This_ he didn’t have to lie about. “I would worship you.” He turned the other and mirrored his efforts, lingering.

Calix made a noise of want, eyes half-lidded. “More’s the pity for me, then.” He wriggled his arm and the sleeve of that tunic slid up a half an inch. Barely anything. Enough for Kaariss to see the deep marks and raised scars of a brand. Calix tugged and Kaariss let his hands go easily. Not too subtle for his elf, then. _Clever thing._

“We are none of us free, _Kaariss_ , we each have our obligations. You to your job and my Mistress’ men to theirs. Me and her Avaar bodyguard to ours.” Calix put his hand to Kaariss’ cheek for a change and pressed a kiss to the corner of his lips. “Do not add me to your burdens.”

He hadn’t noticed until right that moment how _tall_ this particular elf was, but he barely had to go up on his toes. His touch and his warmth and the smell of flowers was gone before Kaariss could gather his wits back together. Calix lingered a moment at the doorway, then went through to the sitting room.

Kaariss heard the turning of the door’s latch and he came through the room, catching Calix having peeked down the hallways. He had the sudden, mad desire to ask when they could see each other again. To ask him if he wanted to run away. Kaariss had to remind himself several times that he was on a mission. He had a job. He had his answers. He had to go report now. This elf wasn’t his problem. He even said so. That didn’t make it easier.

Kaariss lingered in the doorway and shared a look that was too full for words with the elf. He stood there, one foot out the door, for far too long. Finally, Calix seemed to take pity and began to slowly close the door. Kaariss moved, then, and the last sight of the elf he had was that sweet smile playing across those tempting lips. All words of good-bye left unsaid.

Kaariss took it back.

Today sucked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title via "Just A Little Longer" by Shy Martin


	11. What Could Go Wrong?

**Chapter Ten**

“What’s wrong with him?”

“He’s _mooning,”_ Sataa nettled, smiling at the scowl that response got her.

“I’m not _mooning.”_

“He’s mooning over his elf,” Sataa explained further, settling in next to the little mage in their midst. He was a good kid. Nice. Useless as the day is long about keeping camp, but a fair hand at healing, at least. And he could light a fire without looking for matches.

“He’s not _my_ elf!” Kaariss snapped at his fellow mercenary, tossing a piece of stick he’d been dismantling into the fire.

“Yeah, I thought that was _why_ you were mooning.”

“Oh, [go fuck yourself.]”

“What does _that_ mean?” Alex asked, looking from one Qunari to the other.

“It means what it sounds like, kid.” Hissera put her hand on Alex’s shoulder to keep him still while she high-stepped over the log and sat down on his other side. “You did good, Kaa’s. Job done. Let it go. Leave it behind.”

Kaariss huffed a breath and shifted in place, “That’s- you didn’t- are you honestly gonna sit there and tell me it doesn’t _bother_ you that he’s a slave? You. Of all people. Really?”

Hissera scoffed, “I didn’t say it didn’t bother me. I said let it go. There’s nothing we can do about it right now.”

Kaariss made a noise of disgust and started to get up, but stopped. Slowly, his head turned back in Hissera’s direction, “Right _now?”_

“Are you honestly gonna sit there and tell me you thought I wasn’t gonna do anything?” Hissera mocked, _“Me? Of all people?”_

Kaariss laughed and Sataa leaned forward, elbow on her knee, “So what’s the plan, Boss Number Two?” The Qunari spared a glance for the mage next to her, grinning at the way his whole face lit up. He really was a sweet kid.

“There’s not really a plan as of yet,” Before anyone could groan or complain, Hissera held a hand up, “But I’ve already talked to Dis about it - to see if we’ve got any additional assets in smuggling them out.”

_“Them?”_ Alex questioned, a little confused.

Kaariss nodded, “The - Avvar, did you call him? The big boy. He’s got slave markings too.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. The two ‘exotics’ have brands, but the rest of them don’t. Goon squad must be on the payroll.”

_“Brands?”_ Alex questioned, incredulously, “What do you mean ‘brands’? Like, a tattoo?”

Kaariss slowly shook his head no.

Alex turned to Hissera, “Whatever you need - I’m in. Lucius is in, too, even if I have to- to- _bespell_ him or something.”

“You can do that?” Sataa leaned a little away.

“There’s a first time for everything,” Alex shrugged, “But mostly I meant I’d beg until he got tired of listening to me whine about it.” The mage smiled as the others laughed, basking in that easy camaraderie. It reminded him a little of the circle; he tried _not_ to feel homesick about a place he wasn’t allowed to leave. It wasn’t really working.

“Well, alright,” Hissera clapped her hands on her thighs, “Three mercenaries, a carta...member, a mage, and a Templar. What could go wrong?” She laughed as Kaariss and Sataa groaned, “Boss said she’d rather not know - wanted to be able to _say_ she didn’t know with a straight face if anyone asks - but recruit whoever you want, guys.”

“You got it, Second Boss.”

“On it.”

“Operation: Wheedle Lucious is a go.” Alex joined in this time as they laughed, happy they were all on the same page. That poor elf. It wouldn’t solve the problem of all the slaves still in Tevinter, but maybe it would help these two. He really did still hope the elf stabbed the Magister in her sleep, though.

* * *

Calix was up before the sunrise. As always. And he was busy. As always. The elf was awake long before the Magistratrix rose and went to bed long after the Magistratrix went to sleep. Stoking fires and running baths and procuring food or blankets or whatever the spoiled little princess might want before she could even voice it. Their mistress could not have functioned without him, and Ravnir thought fondly of that time, not long from now, when she would have to.

He also thought fondly of slitting her throat.

The Avvar, too, kept early hours - preferring to greet the Lady of the Skies as she wrapped her dawning cloak about her. So it was good, in that way, that their mistress would often dismiss him early in the evenings. The threat of him, she said, always put her guests ill at ease. Which she didn’t want. Until she did. It was her soft Tevene men that watched her last night, and Ravnir was glad of it. It left him free to wander. And here, at the Conclave, it left him free to think. To plan.

Ravnir nudged the _guard_ that was meant to be on watch, making sure he was awake before he collected the elf from their mistress’ rooms. Calix exchanged pleasantries and promised coffee and breakfast upon his return, and then the two of them were free to leave. Well. _Free_ being a relative term. Ravnir barely remembered the taste of the word ‘free’. Soon, though. Soon he would _roar_ with it.

They did not speak as they walked the hall from the Magistratrix’s rooms. They did not speak as they passed guards and servants. Calix smiled sweetly and ducked his head coyly as they passed one of the Qunari with weapons. Ravnir said nothing.

They made their way in silence to the place designated for servants and the like to clean up. There were a handful of elves there, but Ravnir wasn’t concerned. The South may call them servants, but these were slaves. And slaves protected their own. All the same, he didn’t speak loudly when he addressed his elf.

“Was that your Qunari?” Ravir asked as he stripped off his boots and tunic.

“Yes,” Calix answered, rolling his eyes with a smile on his face as he stripped to his bare skin, settling their bathing things in easy reach. “That is the one I spoke to first yesterday. The one with the wandering eyes.”

“But not the wandering hands?”

“Mm.”

Ravnir knelt by the barrel and stole away the cloth his little elf had lathered up and took over scrubbing his back, along his shoulders, down each arm. He washed the elf like he could wipe away every lingering look and harsh word the creature had to endure. Like he could wipe away the weight of his burdens.

_“Soon,”_ Calix murmured, gone pliant under Ravnir’s ministrations. _“And no one will touch me but you.”_

Ravnir snorted, amused, as he worked in gentle circles down the elf’s chest, “Are you certain you are not an Augur, Little Bird? That the spirits do not whisper my thoughts to you?”

The slow smile that crosses Calix’s face is one Ravnir wants to keep on it forever. “Why would I need the spirits to whisper to me what you think, when you wear your mind so loudly?” The elf opened his eyes and tipped his head back, expectantly. Ravnir leaned in and pressed their temples together. His hand is wet and soapy along Calix’s jaw, but the elf doesn't seem to mind, reaching up to hold him close.

_“When we are gone from here,”_ Calix whispers in his ear, sounding confident in ways Ravnir wished he felt off the battlefield, _“You may protect me as you like. Challenge any who would think to take me from you.”_

Ravnir shivers, grip going tight as he buries his nose in the join of his elf’s neck and shoulder. He bites down and thrills at the gasp. _No marks_ . He knows. But he loves how Calix doesn’t stop him. Trusts him. _“When we are gone from here,”_ He whispers back, feeling more certain they will be, _“No man will dare try. I would slaughter them for looking.”_

He pulls back to look Calix in the eyes, and ocean blue meets shining amber. The grin that slashes across his elf’s face now is fierce. A hungry thing that makes him wish they were alone.

_“Do as you will. Bathe in their blood. And it will be my turn to wash you clean, my heart.”_

Ravnir tips forward and captures the elf’s lips. These aren’t the words he wants to say. He wants to be kind where others have been harsh. Wants to feed him words as sweet as the taste of him. But these are the words he has. This is what he can do. His elf laps up his fierce protection just as he sups on his affections. Hungry for all of it. Greedy.

He breaks the kiss and rests their foreheads together. Knowing he has every intention of taking this too far if he keeps going. Every time someone has their hands on Calix, he wants to write his touch over theirs. Drown them out. Wipe them clean. And so very many lay their hands on him.

“Stand up, so I can get the rest of you,” Ravnir growls, annoyed now he’s thinking of this _Qunari_ touching Calix. No. Looking at him. But he wanted to touch. Ravnir didn’t need Calix telling him to know the Qunari wanted to touch. They all do.

Calix chuckles softly and whispers, _“Give me a moment, lest I put on a show.”_

Ravnir groans and surrenders up the cloth. If he sees how much his words have affected his little elf, he’ll take him right here in the bath house. Watchers or no. The Avvar stands and unties his breeches, stripping for his turn in the bath as Calix finishes up. He fetches a drycloth and wraps it ‘round the little elf as he stands from the water, glorious and tempting.

Ravnir steps in and realizes he’s going to smell like the elf now. The oils he put in the bath. They don’t often _share;_ their mistress can afford luxuries, even for her slaves. He groans again, and gives a half-hearted glare as Calix laughs at him, pulling on his clean, dry clothes.

“Witch.”

“As I said, _ma vhenan_ , you think so _loud!”_ Calix knelt by the basin and took up the job Ravnir had done for him, scrubbing the days’ sweat and grime and dirt away with practiced efficiency.

Calix leans in to run the cloth across his collarbone, and up his neck. He’s quiet again. Thoughtful. “Their leader has told me the best window is between midnight and before sunup.”

“Mmm.” Ravnir hummed in agreement, going where the elf moved him and thinking on this. “That’s later than planned.”

“I know,” Calix’s face was drawn in concentration - but not for the task at his fingertips. “Dip.” He waited for Ravnir to resurface before continuing, “I can make it work.”

“Are you certain?”

“Yes. But we will have to delay another day.” Ravnir groaned, and Calix shushed him, trying to soothe his annoyance with gentle touches, braiding his hair quick as a flash, “I know, I know. One more day, _ma vhenan,_ one more day. You’ve been _so_ patient so far - you can wait one day more.”

Ravnir sighed. He knew he could wait. He could wait _years_ more if the elf asked it of him. But that didn’t mean he _wanted_ to. He wanted to be gone _now._ He wanted to kill every one of those soft, Tevene guards. He wanted to strangle the life out of the Magistratrix. He wanted to leave that opulent room of silks and furs awash with blood and death, and he wanted to set fire to the whole Temple behind him.

Calix chuckled again, and Ravnir just rolled his eyes. He was used to his little elf reading his thoughts. Or knowing him well enough to guess at them. He supposed he didn’t actually try to keep those thoughts off his face. He sighed and stepped out of the tub, letting Calix fuss and dry him for a moment before taking over.

“Have you need of anything but my patience?”

Calix held out his breeches to him, and didn’t answer until he had them up. The elf stepped in and tugged them closed, snugging the laces tight. He crowded in close and ran his hand up Ravnir’s chest. Those sharp little nails scratched up the back of his neck and bent him down.

_“Only this.”_

The elf kissed like a claiming, and Ravnir only realized he was trying to pick Calix up and hold him closer when the elf nipped at his lip and pressed him away.

“That will do,” Calix teased, patting Ravnir on the cheek.

The Avvar lunged for him on a growl, eager to capture him back, and the elf tried to dart away, but Ravnir caught him, spinning, leaving his chest to the elf’s back. Calix squirmed and laughed as Ravnir bent his head to nip and kiss at the line of his ear.

The elf yelped when he nibbled on the sensitive edge just next to the gold jewlery capping that long ear. He huffed and complained, “We have _work_ to do!”

Ravnir chuckled low in his throat and let his hands rove where they would, as his lithe little elf smacked at him and laughed, not as mad as he seemed. _“Rather work on you.”_

“Ravnir!” Calix shivered and elbowed him - more a nudge than anything - and gave a loud, scandalized sort of whisper-yell of a response, _“We are in_ _public!”_

He let the elf go with reluctance, and smiled at his scandalized and apologetic look to the others still in the shed. He followed him as he gathered their things and caught the tunic thrown at him with a laugh. With a little more cajoling and ‘little bird’s and ‘my heart’ in the tongue of the elf’s own people, he softened, exasperated, and pressed a quick kiss to Ravnir’s lips. He bustled out of the shed ahead of him, not waiting. His hands were on his cheeks, trying to cool the heat in them.

Ravnir returned the amused and indulgent grins of the servants still there with a nod, before heading outside. His Calix blushed and demured and fluttered his eyelashes with the best of them. The Avvar waited until they were in the Temple again and tugged his elf into a nearby alcove, half filled with the statue of the man with the headache.

“Do what you wanted?”

“Mm,” Calix agreed, letting himself be backed against the wall. He nuzzled against Ravnir’s throat, “So lucky of us...to be bathing the same time as the evening kitchen staff.”

“Yes, Little Bird, I am _sure_ it was luck.”

“Why, _Ravnir,_ what else would it be?” His elf gave him a smile so sweet butter wouldn’t have melted in his mouth. Ravnir wasn’t fooled. “You aren’t suggesting I _planned_ that, are you?”

The Avvar snorted a laugh. “You do not plan, my own Imhar. You speak your will to the world and the world answers you as a brother.” He pressed their lips together in a quick kiss, “One more night, Little Bird, and we will be rid of this place. Two more days, and you will be mine alone.”

_“Yes, yes.”_

* * *

Lucius sighed for what felt like the fifteenth time in half as many minutes, “Alex. it will not matter how neat you look if you make us late.”

“I know, I know!” Came the muffled reply from inside the tent. “I just _feel_ I’m forgetting something!”

The Templar sighed. Again. And looked askance of his Qunari escort.

“If _you_ can’t hurry him along, I don’t know why you think _we_ can.” Hissera had chosen herself and Kaariss to escort Lucius and Alex up to the Temple for their meeting with the divine. Sataa accused her of being embarrassed of the lot of them. Realistically, she just didn’t want any of them to have to deal with the Divine’s guards.

Hissera and Shokrakar had already met with the Right and Left Hands of the Divine, and been left alone to work out logistics with Justinia’s guards. Racist twats. The only good part of the whole interaction had been when they’d tried to sneer down their noses at the Qunari while also looking _up._ Shok had really gotten a good laugh out of it _way_ longer than she should have.

Hissera nudged Kaariss, and the other Qunari ducked into the tent before Lucius could object. There was a squeal of surprise, a low chuckle, and whispering voices talking over each other before Alex was scuttling outside with the rest of them.

Alex tugged on his robes, trying to get them to settle right, refusing to look anyone in the eye. He was well aware he was making a fuss, but it wasn’t every day you were asked to go and stand in front of the _head of the Chantry._ It especially wasn’t every day you were asked to talk to the mouthpiece of the Maker when you weren’t even sure the Maker existed.

“Finally.” Lucius grabbed hold of Alex’s arm, ready to stop him bolting - either back into the tent or just away. “Let’s get going.” He pulled the mage into motion, moving his hand to the middle of Alex’s back. It surprised him the mage didn’t pull away. In fact, he walked a little closer.

“Alright?” Lucius asked, once they were in their little procession and a little ahead of their escort. When Alex didn’t answer, he looked over. Maybe he’d nodded. “Alex.” Lucius tried for teasing, “Use your words.”

Alex gave a nervous sort of chuckle and answered, “Yes. I’m...fine. It’s fine. It’s going to be okay.”

“Are you trying to convince me or you?”

_“Me,_ obviously. You’re so excited to be in the same room as her you’re practically glowing with holy fire, Lucius.”

He was snippy. But Lucius could recognize it now for nerves, “It’ll be fine. We’re only going to talk about the circle. Us. How we managed to get to the Conclave without murdering each other.” He glanced over and caught the confused expression on Alex’s face, “You know we’re the only ones who made it intact, right?”

“Oh.” Alex looked straight ahead and walked along a little without thinking. What a terrible thought. That no circles had made it without one side or the other murdering each other. He hummed, “Probably the Templars weren’t as patient as you are.”

Lucius looked over and smiled, rubbing his hand against Alex’s back. “Probably the Mages weren’t as kind as you are, Alex.” He had to apply a little pressure to keep the mage moving, as he nearly stopped right there in the middle of the path. “What?”

“You…”

“Other mages probably aren’t as fussy as you are either. Or as incapable of pitching a tent. Or-”

Alex gasped and shoved at the Templar, only getting moved himself for the trouble, “See if I say nice things about you now!”

Hissera shook her head and elbowed Kaariss as the two humans in front of her bickered and shoved at each other like children.

“They keep this up, they’ll ruin the whole point of the meeting.”

Hissera chuckled, “Doubt it. Those two are like brothers. I would say older and younger...but as someone _with_ siblings, I’m tempted to say they’re both annoying middle children. Oh, hey.” Adaar jerked her head as she caught eyes with Dis as they passed and waved her over. The dwarf had been talking to two other dwarves and looked ready to be done with the conversation or ready for a fight.

Dis jogged over and fell into step, “Thanks for the assist. What’s up?”

“Taking these two to see the Divine. Competitors?”

“Nah. They’re the two I got to sell lyrium for me.”

“You _trust_ them to do that?” Hissera looked over her shoulder for the two, but they were already out of sight.

“Not even a little. That’s why they paid up front for the privilege of doing my work for me.” Dis shrugged, “Got kinda pissy when they got complaints the stuff had been watered down.”

“Dis…”

“Well. Shit. I wasn’t about to try and sell substandard shit myself. Not _my_ fault they didn’t check the merchandise.”

“Hello, Dis,” Kaariss chirped, leaning around his boss to beam at the dwarf.

“Hello, child.”

“Child!”

“It’s Kaariss. Dis - Kaariss, Kaariss - Dis. Everybody play nice.”

“I _always_ play nice.”

Hissera groaned. Stuck between two flirts. She quickly remedied the situation by snagging Kaariss by the shoulder and swapping places.

Dis remedied her needing to talk to the Qunari by speeding up and weaseling her way between the Templar and the Kid. “Hey, kids - why the lovers’ quarrel?”

“Dis!”

“Not-” Lucius sighed. _“Lovers.”_ This was his lot in life. It really was. It was bad enough Alex told the Left Hand of the Divine that they shared blankets. And the meat pie woman that they bathed together. And the entire Valo-Kas that he admired Lucius’ hair, and wanted to _brush it._ Now the dwarf was in on it too. Maker only knew what the boy would say in front of the Divine.

Alex had been explaining the reason for their little trek - apparently more at ease explaining it to Dis than he was dealing with it on his own. That is, until they were actually in front of the door to the Temple. It all seemed to filter back in, and the little mage had clammed up tight.

“Oh, c’mon, Alex.” Dis patted him on the hip, “It’s not so bad. Chat with a little old lady. C’mon. Hissera will be with you the whole time, and I’ll walk you to the door.”

After a breath or two, Alex smiled, a wobbly thing that didn’t reach his eyes, but he spoke with more conviction, “You’re right. You’re right.” He looked to Lucius and got an answering nod. He squared his shoulders and walked through the big double doors of the Temple, Lucius and Dis and Hissera and Kaariss just behind him. “It’s just a chat. What could go wrong?”

* * *

The night sky was bright with green ribbons of light, and the air filled with wailing screams. The twisted, blackened remains of the Temple of Sacred Ashes arched to the sky like the exposed ribcage of some abandoned carrion. Bodies littered the ground, scorched and fused to the rock around them, all in the throes of agony.

In one moment, so many lives had been ended.

In one moment, destruction was the only driving force in the universe.

The sky shook and cracked, electric and unnatural in it's sickly green. It cast a pall over the grounds that was hard to shake. Made you feel as though nothing would be right ever again. Made you feel as though you were being watched.

Commander Rutherford Cullen was commanding his men to look for survivors, but he didn’t hold out much hope. Didn’t hold out any, truth be told. A shout from one of his men had his head turning.

“Commander!” Came the cry of alarm, and Cullen set himself to running.

The great rent in the sky opened now - like peeling aside great green curtains - and beyond there were shadows and shapes. Blurry, at first, but sharpening. Tiny shapes and big ones. Jagged, spindly legs poked their way out from the breach.

“Demons!” Cullen shouted, sure of it in a way he wished he weren’t, “Be ready, men!”

The things skittered and scattered, covering ground far too quickly. But they were not overwhelmed yet. And wouldn’t be if he could help it. Cullen called for reinforcements and began fighting his way to the front as one of the larger shapes made its way to the opening.

This was a big one. Or. A powerful one. It wasn’t bigger than a person, but it set his blood singing - ready to answer his call to quash the power rolling out of that rift in waves. Cullen knew better than most that demons could shape themselves like whatever they wished, and this one was...well. Hard to tell _what_ it was trying to look like. It at least walked on two legs.

“Get back!” Cullen yelled, getting a better sense of what was stepping through as he suddenly felt hot. Heated. This was something more powerful than these little fearling demons. He could feel it pull at him. It was strong. Powerful. Perhaps more powerful than he alone could manage. He watched in growing horror as the creature stepped forward through the rift.

From the land of spirits, to the land of the living, the creature came. In the flesh. There was green glowing in the palm of one hand - the green of the rift behind it. It screamed, eyes blazing white, and the magic flickered, pulsing with power.

This must be the creature that blew up the conclave. Come back to finish the job.

Cullen would see it dead first.

The Commander lifted his blade, and on a bellow of challenge, ran forward.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to all and sundry who viewed and kudo'd and commented and whatnot!
> 
> The next story in this series will be coming soon.  
> Ready to follow the adventures of whoever managed to walk out of that rift alive.


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